


Wolfish

by TheManTheMythTheLazy



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Simon Snow, Canon Magic Divergence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, It's like a slow burn but like they cuddle by chapter 5, M/M, Meandering Burn, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Occasional unashamed flair for drama, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Simon, Penny is a great friend, Plot, Simon drinks respect women juice, Simon likes to break the fourth wall, Simon uses his magic for business, Simon won't call him Baz until The Moment, The Mage (Simon Snow) is an Asshole, Vampire Disaster Baz, You know what I mean, agatha is a badass, alternate universe as in alternate storyline, as in magic works the way i say it works, bed sharing, family trauma, floor sharing, head canon: penny gives amazing hugs, honestly Baz Is a wreck in this but that’s why we love him, it's not all serious, there is a dance-off, working through trauma, you know floor sharing because they both pass out drunk and snuggle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManTheMythTheLazy/pseuds/TheManTheMythTheLazy
Summary: I met him on a dark and stormy night. There was no other man like him. And no other night like it.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 38
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, an actual story with plot and not just me writing angst! I do not plan for this to be long because long projects are less likely to get finished. Yell at me to finish this. I need to be yelled at. Anyway I don't actually know what this is or what it will turn out to be, but I'm having fun writing it and that's really all that matters

I met him on a dark and stormy night. There was no other man like him. And no other night like it.

So here’s the thing. I’m not entirely sure how I got into this business. Okay, that’s a lie. I know exactly how. What I _mean_ is that I don’t know how I turned what was supposed to be a side hustle into a legitimate business. Okay. Not legitimate in the legal sense, but like, if it _were_ legal I would have to pay taxes for it.

This is confusing even for me. Let’s start again.

I’m an orphan. I lived in an orphanage until one day I just decided I didn’t want to anymore. I ventured out on my own and before I knew it, enough years passed that I wouldn’t have been able to go back if I wanted to. That was probably my first existential crisis where I panicked over what I was going to do for the rest of my life, and that I wasted a perfectly good roof over my head and that I was stupid to leave before I aged out.

Yeah. It was a bad time.

But that time is gone now. I’m here today thriving. But before that, I was dirty and poor and sad. People with nothing to worry about didn’t bother looking at someone like me. I was passed by on the streets with the same air of disgust as if I were already a rotting corpse. Finding work was hard so I gave up and became a thief. When that almost got me killed I discovered I had magic. When that happened I realized I could do odd jobs more efficiently than my Normal competition and I had a nice little side business. Then word got around that I was pretty useful and then Magicians wanted me to do stuff for them (and stop helping Normal people); and then Magicians wanted me to do stuff under the table. Then one thing led to another and I realized I could just. Give my magic to people. Magicians. Normals. Vampires. Like. Literally, if it breathed and could ask me for some, I could give it. (I could also take it). That’s when the money and the trouble really started rolling in.

My name leaves a bad taste in the mouth of Magicians. They kind of try to kill me.

But everyone else loves me.

And like I know I’m skimming over what would otherwise make a great coming of age story. But really you just need an idea of my life in order to understand what is currently happening to me. That something being a gorgeous prick and a nightmare of an evening.

So. Let’s begin.

****

“It’s very simple. You get close to the Mage, do your thing, and boom. You are officially in the clear.”

It did sound simple. Penny is good at making things sound simple.

Agatha takes a long drag of her cigarette then blows out the smoke in a way that manages to be incredulous. She is good at voicing her disapproval with the world around her without ever saying a word. I really admire that quality. It’s how she took charge of my finances and the business-y side of things. Now that is definitely a story to be told at a later date. And from her mouth, not mine, because really I play a pretty minor part in her life. I’m certain that this major part of my life is really just a side hustle for her.

I think that’s badass.

Anyway I’m looking to her for some hint of approval that I can afford a move as risky as this one. I mean. Taking magic from the Mage? The. Mage? Rendering him useless and thereby setting up a scenario where he gets replaced with someone else? That’s a big deal and it’s really up in the air as to whether it will be good for me. I mean in theory a better Mage will come to power and try not to kill me. But honestly I think I would just be putting a bigger target on my back and an outrageous price on my head.

“I’m telling you it will work,” Penny insists. “At this rate what have you got to lose?”

“My life?” I say at the same time that Agatha says, “His head.”

“Okay.” Penny waves her hands in front of her as if to clear the room from bad juju that Agatha and I are putting in the air. “Yes. This _might_ go bad—”

“Emphasizing a maybe does not make it less of a certainty,” Agatha says.

“What she said,” I say.

“… _but_ there are some really open minded people that would like to see the Mage removed from power,” Penny continues while Agatha snorts. “Look at my Mom. She loves you, Simon! She would never want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Does she want to be the Mage?” Because I would be completely fine with that. The woman can make cherry scones that make a grown man weep. (Me. I’m the grown man.)

“Er, well, no.”

Agatha takes another drag. “Just let it go. You’ll only end up getting Simon killed.”

“Oh come on! Think of the possibilities!”

Agatha blows out the last of the smoke in her lungs. “No.”

I shrug. That’s that I guess. It’s a good plan if you ignore literally everything about it but the ideal outcome. Anyway I’m not comfortable with taking magic. That side of the business is even more shady than the illegally giving magic side. Certain types of people seek me out to take magic. It’s super expensive. And I never like guessing how these people have stacks of bills on hand at a moment’s notice.

I’m not saying I’m super moral, here, because obviously I’m not. It’s just that I’ve only ever taken two jobs like that before. I never felt great afterward.

“But you have to, Simon!”

“Does he?”

I blink at Penny. “I do?”

At this she begins to fidget by taking off her glasses and checking them for smudges. “Well…I may have…” she rubs at the lens with the bottom of her shirt. With her head turned to the floor she mumbles something that I can’t quite make out.

“You may have…?”

“I may have accepted a job on your behalf.”

****

And so now I’m here. At a ritzy party with a bunch of Magicians, trying to blend in so that I can find this supposed client and tell him the deal is off before I’m discovered, quartered, and hanged. Normally I would never do something so risky as this: hanging out in plain sight and fraternizing with the enemy. Supposedly it’s the only way to get close to the guy. He’s a Pitch. Which means he’s only social at a party and literally nowhere else.

I can only get away with my disguise because the Simon Snow everyone knows about is a street rat. Someone who is never seen in polite company, doesn’t have a suit to his name, and can be smelled long before he is seen.

Considering how much money I make for my services this story is complete bollocks. But that’s anti-Simon propaganda for you.

It serves me well at any rate. I try to encourage these kinds of stories when I can because it’s helpful for situations like this. Some brown hair-dye (because a Magician’s eye is trained to catch magical alterations, not L’ORÉAL Paris Superior Preference Medium Brown), my best grey suit, and a can-do attitude means that I schmoozed my way in without a hitch. I carry a flute of champagne for added effect and not at all because I’m so nervous about being here I’m also scared I’ll sweat through my suit.

I’m taking a turn about the room, eyes scanning for my client. I’m looking for a tall, pale man with long dark hair and a superior way about him. That pretty much describes every Pitch and magical being in this room. Except for the pale part (on the Pitch side). Most of them are not. Penny said his name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch but that he goes by Baz, and that he would be expecting me tonight on the balcony.

(It sounds like the set-up for a bad romance.)

(There are also a lot of balconies in this place.)

I’m hoping to avoid theatrics and just say my piece and get out of here. I can’t afford to go snooping around a mansion. My schmoozing skills are good insofar as I get through the front door. I’m not meant to carry on a proper conversation. Especially not one where I have to charismatically get away with skulking around someone’s home.

I take a swig of champagne and that is when I see him. The description Penny gave me does not do him justice. He has one of those faces that you would expect to see in a museum. It’s easy to see he comes from old blood, but like, in a really good, sophisticated kind of way. Like he inherited every single good Pitch gene, from the shine of his hair, to the elegance of his walk. (He’s not even walking. He’s just standing there looking uncomfortable with a flute of champagne in each hand. But that’s my point. He just _seems_ graceful.) If there is a God, then he (or she) put in _the work_ on this man.

I almost feel bad that I’m about to turn him down. For the job.

Although I am curious as to why someone like _him_ would pay for something as heinous as taking someone’s magic. It’s not my business. I’m not going to ask because the less I know about clients, would-be or otherwise, the better for my mental health. But I do wonder.

I walk right up to him. “It’s more acceptable to get trashed later into the party.”

Tyrannus scowls at me. “It is also acceptable to touch up your roots before making a formal appearance.”

My hand shoots to the top of my head. I feel my face burn. What a fucking prick. Never meet your heroes, I guess. Not that this guy would ever be a hero. Considering what he wants from me, he’s definitely the villain. “Don’t you know the rule? Only point something out if that person can fix it in five seconds or less.”

He looks bored. “I would rather be rid of you for longer than that.”

My jaw drops. I can’t help it. He’s just…so fucking rude. It’s unbelievable. He doesn’t recognize me, that much is obvious, but even if I were just some random person, I haven’t done anything to warrant _this_. “The hell is wrong with you?” I demand.

He pointedly looks me up and down. “You are still standing here.”

And if you think this is why the night was so horrid, you are wrong. Because just as I lose my head and practically shout _“Do you know who I am?”_ The Mage makes a grand entrance. The double doors to the ballroom fly open. Lightning flashes from the ceiling-high windows so bright it momentarily stuns the partygoers, myself and Tyrannus included. Thunder explodes over head, but it is still not loud enough to cover the Mage’s shout of, “WHERE IS HE?”

Silence.

All eyes are on the Mage.

I discreetly inch behind Tyrannus, who in turn discreetly moves behind a small group of people. Neither of us questions the other.

Natasha Grimm-Pitch steps forward, back ramrod straight and anger practically oozing from every pore. “You are not welcome here.” Her tone is icy and I can immediately see that haughtiness is a heritable trait in this family. Tyrannus is still growing into his, it seems. “Get out.”

“Natasha.” The Mage’s voice is like oil. Nasty and slick with all the power in the world. “Be reasonable about this.”

“I will not ask again.” Her voice raises slightly, but not to be heard. It’s more like a command. Other members of the family step forward to back her. In front of me, I can feel that Tyrannus wants to do the same. He twitches forward, but in the same half-second keeps himself rooted to the spot. His hands are fisted at his sides.

The Mage takes in the Pitch brigade, but remains unperturbed. With a sad smile he addresses the room. “Do you know whom it is you keep company with?” The question rings out. Nobody seems to know what to say and the Mage draws energy from it. I can feel it. Not magically, but like confusion and distress are what energizes him. I’ve dealt with people like this before, both in business and as a powerless child. They are a stain on society. I’m suddenly not all that opposed to accepting Tyrannus’ job. “This woman,” he gestures to Natasha, “this family,” another sweeping motion of his arm, “keeps company with vampires.”

Tyrannus’ knees buckle for a split second. I catch him by the arm. It’s freezing. He wrenches away from me.

The silence fills with murmurs.

“Not only that,” the Mage continues.

“That’s enough.” Natasha snaps, her voice cracking like a whip.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Fiona Pitch steps up to her sister’s side. It’s unsteady just like her words. She’s not scared. Just drunk.

The Mage speaks over them and just like before, his words ring out clear as day. “Her son is one of them!”

“Oh… _shit.”_ The words are out of my mouth, barely audible compared to the uproar that has just begun, but Tyrannus whips around as if I had screamed his name. I’m expecting fangs, but really all I see are wide grey eyes of someone helpless and scared. And I really get it.

I grab his hand.

He tries to pull away, but I just hold on tighter. “What are you—?”

“She willingly put you all at risk to protect a monster,” the Mage says as the crowd gets more agitated. Because they all know that Tyrannus is here. They’re looking for him. They want to get rid of him. They’re pushing and shoving and craning their necks around. “She had every chance to kill him!” The Mage punches his hand for emphasis. “To keep everyone safe!”

Fiona stomps forward, wand pointed at him. “Not another fucking word!”

I tug at Tyrannus. “I’m going to get you out of here. We need to go. Now.”

The Mage’s personal guard surges forward. They grab at Fiona but she fights them, curses them. Friends and family of the Pitches join in to back her up and all hell breaks loose from there. The room is split into three factions: those helping the Mage, those helping Fiona, and those trying to ferret out Tyrannus. Nobody is successful, but they sure are making a mess of things. I’m trying to shove our way to the door, but he is fighting me.

“No, not that way,” he says. He nods to a unremarkable looking door off to the right. “There.”

We almost make it to the door. But then we are quite literally lifted off our feet. Below us a woman has her wand pointed at us. “I’ve found him!” She declares. It’s so loud and chaotic that it is only after a small crowd has formed around us that more of the room starts to take notice. Cries of _there he is!_ And _kill him now! And his friend!_ Take hold.

“Bring him to me!” The Mage says. The woman begins to float us towards him and honestly this is as undignified as it gets.

 _“No!_ ” Natasha snarls and she does the unspeakable. In a rush of words too fast for me to understand, she strikes the Mage down with a flare of magic. At the same time Fiona breaks through the crowd and knocks the woman holding us in her spell to the ground. Gravity returns and we crash to the floor in a heap. I’m just lucky that I land on top of him and not the other way around. I don’t have time to get my bearings. People are screaming now as panic and outrage and a whole lot of negativity explodes throughout the room. Fiona shoves me aside and pulls Tyrannus to his feet. The Mage’s guard swarms Natasha. Magic is flying everywhere. People are shoving, running. It’s all too much. I feel like I’m in the immediate aftermath of something really bad. Like an explosion. A fire. A shooting.

And then it happened.

A bolt of lightning. It’s magic. We all know it is. It’s just something you _feel_. And when it’s this powerful even a Normal can sense it. It cracks through the air, through the crowd, right into Natasha Grimm-Pitch.

She doesn’t crumple to the floor she just…like ash in the wind she’s just…gone.

On his knees, wand outstretched, the Mage seems triumphant.

Tyrannus loses it.

Fiona loses it.

They charge the Mage. Tyrannus is fast. Quicker than the eye can follow and unbelievably strong. He is holding the Mage up by the throat, fangs flashing and it’s such a terrible sight as tears stream down his face. And I know I can’t let him do this. I know it in my bones with the same certainty that I know he is perfectly justified.

I close my eyes. I want the two of us out of here. I want us safe and far away. I want it so bad that my will becomes more.

In the blink of an eye we are back in my room.

Tyrannus is standing empty-handed. He’s staring at the space where there was once the throat of his enemy. He stays like that for a long time. I don’t know what it means and I don’t know if he does either. There’s too much. It’s all too much. I’m sitting on my bed (I always will myself on my bed) knees up to my chin, waiting for him to decide what comes next. I’m shaking, but not because I’m tired.

Thunder rumbles.

Tyrannus flinches.

“You’re safe now,” I say. I can barely hear my own voice. I’m still hearing all of the people in the ballroom. I squeeze my knees tighter.

Tyrannus’ hand drops to the side. He looks at me now. I don’t know what to make of his expression. It’s like he’s feeling everything at once to the point where none of the emotions mean anything. His face is utterly blank but his eyes are stormy and dark and unnatural. His fangs are still out and tears are dripping down his chin. I don’t expect him to say anything. Not in the state he is in. But he does and his voice is perfectly composed. “Who are you?”

I almost want to lie to him. Because if I tell him this, he’ll want something I can’t give him. Because everyone knows that I have the power to just _make_ things happen. Even so, I can’t bring people back to life.

“I’m Simon. Simon Snow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is a wreck. Simon is conflicted. And Penny owes money.

Tyrannus is on me in less than a second. His hands are wrapped around my throat as he straddles me. I feel his tears drip, drip onto my cheeks. _“Why didn’t you stop him?”_ He demands of me, words just a little slurred because of his fangs. He’s asking me one thing, but I can hear what he actually means: _why did you stop me?_ Why did I choose to whisk Tyrannus away before he could get his justice?

The truth is I don’t really know. It felt wrong. Living on the streets all my life taught me to trust my gut over anything else. I didn’t think, really. I just acted. He doesn’t want to hear that, so what should I say? It’s not that I’m scared (shockingly because his hand is tight around my throat and I really do think he wants to kill me) I just don’t want to hurt him more with something inadequate.

I try to adjust a little, try to take a breath. I put my hand over one of his. Gentle. “I…” My voice is more of a stuttered breath and he thankfully lets up just enough for me to speak properly. “Things were getting out of hand. I didn’t want you to do something you would regret.”

He slams his weight on my throat, face inches from my own. I can’t cough and my vision is blurry going cross eyed just to properly see his face. _“I would never regret killing him.”_

Of course he wouldn’t. What a stupid thing to say. “I’m…sorry,” I wheeze. For a lot of things, but in this moment it’s for not being able to soothe his pain.

Tyrannus glares down at me for a long second. I must be turning blue by now. With a disgusted sound he releases his hands and stands up. He faces away from me, but I can see that his arms are wrapped tightly around his torso. I cough and rub at my throat. I’m really glad he chose not to kill me, but the truth is I don’t know what to do now. I’ve taken him from the Mage but what’s stopping him from seeking him out the second he leaves? And honestly is it really my business, my problem, if he chooses to? Tyrannus isn’t my client. He was never supposed to be. There is no reason to get wrapped up in his decisions….

“You’re a vampire?”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken.

“How did you hide it?” I’m trying to think of even the most useless gossip from the streets that have any mention of vampires in one of the oldest families. Nothing. From the reactions of everyone else back at the party, I’m not the only one caught entirely by surprise. “When did it happen?” My curiosity is the least important thing he needs to deal with, but I can’t help asking.

“Shut up.” It’s quiet. Tired.

“Right. Look, I’ll cut to the chase.” I move to sit on the edge of my bed. He’s close enough to reach out and touch and all I can think about is how easy it would be for him to turn around and strangle me again. “I know you hired me through my friend.” A friend who had no jurisdiction to offer my services to anyone. But that’s a chewing out for another day. “I went to the party to tell you that I won’t take the job.”

He laughs bitterly. “Really? You are going to tell me that now?”

I rub the back of my head. “It’s just good business to let you know where I stand.”

He turns his head and I can see his disgust. “Well thanks for that.”

“It’s not that I agree with anything that happened!”

“Not even your own actions?”

He’s got me there. It’s not like I can pretend to say I regret saving him. Because that’s what I did. The Magicians already wanted him dead, but there’s a whole process that he could work with. If he plays his cards right, the worst thing that will happen is he gets stripped of his magic. It’s still a terrible thing, but at least he’s not dead. (Well not undead. _Dead_ dead.) But if he killed the Mage? There’s no saving him. Maybe that’s not what he wants right now. Grief is a terrible thing. But I prefer he makes that choice with a clearer head.

“Hm.” Tyrannus wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he turns to face me fully, his fangs are gone. I resist the urge to tell him it’s cool he can make them appear at will. “Will you give me a refund, then?”

I blink. “What?”

He holds out a hand, palm up. “My money. I already paid you.”

“You did?”

“Is it not good business to know where your money goes?” He sneers.

“My friend is not part of my business,” I snap. He’s got a lot going on, but I can’t help bristling at his tone. It reminds me of our first exchange, and honestly I don’t think I’ll ever let it go.

“So you _are_ a thief.”

“No!” I put that behind me a long time ago, not that he would appreciate how insulting he’s being. “I will get your money. I don’t want it, anyway.”

He crosses his arms belligerently. “Good. I do not want you to have it. So hand it over.”

I gesture around my room. “Do you see cash laying around anywhere? It’s not here. It’s at my shop.” It’s not actually a shop because I don’t sell anything but myself. Hm. Could’ve phrased that better. Anyway, calling the place an office sounds too formal. It’s just a dingy little room in a crumbling building on the rundown side of town. It suits the tone of the business. Oddly enough I’ve also found that clients like it that way, too. It makes them feel better knowing that the likelihood of running into someone they know, someone whom is a respectable member of society, is slim to none.

Jokes on them. It’s the respectable people that have something to prove.

“Well then magic it here.”

“You know that’s not possible.”

“Oh, my apologies. I thought I was talking to the most powerful Magician of our time.”

Is that what people call me? I’ve only ever heard myself referred to as gum on the bottom of society’s shoe. I try not to smile. And then I don’t have to try because I realize that Tyrannus isn’t handing out a free compliment. He’s being an arse again. Now I’m resisting the urge to give him the finger. The man lost his mother. I’m trying to cut him some slack, but damn if he doesn’t make it easy.

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and hit the second speed dial reserved for Penny. The line connects and I’m speaking before she can draw a breath to say hello. “I don’t know what you did with Tyrannus’ money, but I need you to get all of it and bring it to my place.”

“Simon! Oh my god I was so worried! Did you hear what happened at the—no, that’s stupid. You were _there._ Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“I’m with Tyrannus.” My safety is so-so at the moment. I’m always being hunted, which is one thing, but now I’ve got company. And I don’t think he minds being found. “He wants his money back.”

“Oh.” Her worry turns to sheepishness. “Of course.” She’s blushing, I can practically hear it. At least she has the decency to feel shame.

“We’re going to talk about that later,” I say cooly. I love Penny. Truly I do. But there is a reason Agatha is my only business partner. It has everything to do with the fact that Agatha does not jump into things at the slightest suggestion of intrigue. She is damn near impossible to impress. That means she isn’t gullible, she doesn’t take anyone’s shit, and she’s cold enough to turn down someone’s sob story if she feels like it’s too risky. Penny as a businesswoman is none of these things.

“I’ll be right over. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

If I never leave my room again it will be too soon. “Let yourself in when you get here.” I hang up and turn to Tyrannus. “Your money is on its way.”

Tyrannus is examining my knick knacks on my dresser. There’s nothing valuable about them, just little treasures that I carry with me. Agatha calls me a hoarder. Maybe I am. But I like having little reminders of where I’ve been. It hurts sometimes to think about, but I also can’t help but feel cheered at how far I’ve come. The value in the cow figurine and the dirty coin and the other stuff lies in the milestones they represent. I didn’t used to have things. Now I do. And if it’s a little hard letting stuff go, well, I can’t be blamed, can I?

I’m watching him take it all in. He’s quiet. Thoughtful. I like Tyrannus much better this way. So long as he never opens his mouth we might just get along. It’s a shame those good looks of his never translated to his personality.

He makes a full investigation of my room before leaning against my dresser. He’s back to studying my knick knacks. The longer the silence stretches on, the more the both of us fall deeper into our thoughts. I’m trying not to hear all of the screaming or see the ash of what used to be a powerful woman. I’ve had a lot of terrible nights. This is one of the worst.

I abruptly stand. “Would you like some tea?”

Tyrannus looks up. His eyes are red-rimmed and I hate seeing it. I look away as I wait for his answer. Several seconds pass before he says, “Yes.” His composure is slipping. I can tell. He managed to pull it together long enough to confront me, but now the night is catching up and there is still a whole future to worry about in the morning.

I motion for him to follow me. We walk down a short hallway, descend winding wooden stairs into a large foyer, and then turn left and follow rows of pictures until we reach the kitchen where a little table with four chairs waits. I go to the stove and make tea as Tyrannus takes a seat. “Your house does not make sense,” he murmurs while I watch the water boil.

“It doesn’t?” It’s not really a question.

“No.” I hear him run his hands along the beaten wooden tabletop. “I guess I envisioned a polished mansion.”

I look at him in surprise. “You did?”

He scoffs. “Please. With as much money as you make, I figured your place should at least put mine to shame.”

“Most people expect me to live in a cardboard box.”

“I thought about that, too.”

“But not this?”

He shakes his head. His hair is sort of a mess. I can see now it has layers to it and even a bit of a curl. It’s wispy now and strands are stuck to his face where his tears dried. I want to fix it. I want to run my fingers through it and put him back together. “I can tell this place is old.” I nod. “It has history.” I nod again. “Trouble is, I am not sure whose history I am looking at.”

“Does it matter?”

“What do the pictures mean?” He asks instead. Penny has asked me this before, too. The pictures I keep contain one of two things: people or places. And not a single one of the subjects includes myself. There are a few of Penny and Agatha, but as far as familiar faces goes, that’s it. I know what he’s getting at. This house has a feeling to it, and it isn’t just age. It’s ghostly. Not creepy. Not haunted. Impersonal. The intimate life of someone displayed for everyone to see, and it’s unsettling because that someone clearly isn’t me.

Except it is.

I don’t owe him any explanation. Instead I take the kettle off of the heat and set it on the table. I maintain my silence as I grab two teacups (old blue china) and set them down along with some sugar. “What are you going to do now?” I ask as I pour a cup and hand it to him. He twists it around in his hands.

“If I told you, you would stop me.”

I nod. “It’s not that I don’t understand.” I say this again because I don’t think he believed me the first time.

“What do you care if I kill the Mage? Does it have to do with why you refused my job?”

“I don’t like him, if that’s what you think.” I’d never been in the same room with him before tonight. I hated everything about him. He had the air of someone self-important and drunk on power. Like I said, I am all too familiar with that kind of person. He would have left a bad taste in my mouth even without being a murderer. In my heart I’m rooting for Tyrannus. I want him to kill the Mage. But I can’t say that. Not after going through the trouble of robbing him of what was probably his only opportunity.

“Then why?” I think he says this with more emphasis than he means. He’s trying so hard to keep it together, but he is coming apart at the seams. For his sake I hope Penny gets here soon. He can take his money and leave and grieve in peace.

“Have you ever seen magic taken from someone?”

Tyrannus shakes his head.

“Have you ever met someone who had it taken?”

Another shake of his head.

“Then I can’t really explain it you. Until you’ve seen it happen, until you’ve seen the aftermath, you wouldn’t begin to understand what it feels like to be the person to do it.”

He slams his hand down, making the cups and kettle jump. “He killed my mother!”

“You asked for this job before that.”

“He wants to kill me!”

“He wants to kill me too.”

Tyrannus is staring at me with his mouth ajar. He doesn’t understand. He won’t ever understand, and that’s okay because he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t have the kind of power I do. Nobody does. Sometimes that can be very lonely. And very scary. I know as it’s grown it’s changed me, but I don’t really know in what ways.

Penny arrives. She’s not quiet about it. I can hear her rushing through house looking for us, although she never takes the stairs. After a moment she finds us and her worry melts into relief. “Simon.” She throws herself onto my shoulders, crushing me in one of my favorite kinds of hugs. I can’t breathe and my face is smushed against her neck and its totally uncomfortable and wonderful. She pulls back only after I’ve tapped her hip to signal that I’ve run out of oxygen. “I am _so_ sorry.” She turns to look at Tyrannus. “Seriously. Here.” She slings her bag from her shoulder and I get smacked in the chin. She rummages around for a second and pulls out a thick envelope. “It’s all there. You can count it if you want.”

Tyrannus takes the envelope and opens it. His fingers dance between the bills and it’s fascinating to watch. He’s flipping through them as fast as one of those money counter machines at the bank. He counts it twice, nods once, and tucks it away inside his jacket. Which has flowers. A flower suit. I never noticed and I’m stunned at how good it looks even in his ruffled state. “I would say it has been a pleasure but…” he stands. “It really has not.”

“Is it true the Mage is looking for you?” Penny asks.

“Yes.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Go home.” _And plot an assassination attempt._ He doesn’t have to say the rest, but I know that’s what he’s thinking. He looks like the type to plot and scheme even without a reason as big as this.

“But won’t they find you?”

“Maybe,” Tyrannus says and now he sounds exasperated. I don’t tell Penny that he wants to be found.

Based on Penny’s reaction to him, or lack thereof, it doesn’t seem that word has gotten around that he’s a vampire just yet. I don’t know when word will spread, but it will be soon. I don’t know who will turn out to be the most wanted man, him or me. And for a ridiculous second I really don’t want him to take the top spot. I’ve been the most wanted man for at least three years now. It’s not a title to be proud of, but it’s mine. “Just let him go, Penny,” I say. “He’s had a tough night.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, quieter this time.

He heads for the front door without saying anything else. He’s fast, unnaturally so. I run after him and catch him just as he opens the door. I put my hand to it, but he’s fighting me so it doesn’t close. We’re just awkwardly standing there, too close. “I…” I didn’t plan on saying anything, I just moved without thinking. Now he’s staring at me and I know he wants me to let him leave in peace because his hands are fisted and he’s gnawing at his bottom lip.

He speaks before I do. “You really won’t help me?”

I’m staring at his mouth in order to avoid looking him in the eye. “No.”

His lips are tight. “Then goodbye, Snow.” He slams the door on the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say how hard it is to not call Baz 'Baz'?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made and a long night gets longer.

I return to Penny feeling really fucking guilty. I can’t shake the feeling that I shouldn’t have turned him down, or at minimum I should have offered some kind of help. His life isn’t going to be easy from here on. Word will get out and he’ll be hunted. He can’t hide forever. But I don’t see how killing the Mage will make that any easier. Although I don’t think Tyrannus is thinking farther than vengeance and again I can’t blame him for it.

I slump into my chair, exhausted.

Penny has taken Tyrannus’ seat. She reaches over and pats my arm. “Rough night?”

“You’ve no idea.”

“I think I have some.” She’s looking at me with kind eyes. That’s the thing I really like about Penny. Some people just have kind eyes, like it’s not a personality trait, it’s a real physical one. There’s a softness in the corners and her eyelashes frame just so to make her seem warm and easy to open up to. Her glasses hide it a little bit, but when she takes them off that’s when you can really see her soul. It’s beautiful. “Tell me about it.”

I do. I tell her everything that transpired except for one important detail. It’s not that I can’t trust her with Tyrannus’ secret, it’s just that I don’t feel like it’s my secret to tell. She holds my hand through all of it, squeezing when I begin to shake as if to ground me and keep me together. She doesn’t take her eyes off me and that makes it easier. I feel safe when I’m with her.

Inevitably she asks the one thing I don’t want to answer. “What does the Mage want with him anyway?”

I bite my lip. I don’t want to say, but I’m looking at her and honestly it would feel good to tell her everything. Maybe she’ll be able to tell me what I should do with how I feel. I pull my hand away and pour more tea for myself. “Well,” I begin, stirring in spoonfuls of sugar until the bottom of the cup feels gritty. “He’s a vampire.”

She audibly gasps, hands flying to her mouth. “I thought he was gay!”

I choke on my tea. “I—I mean…” I’m fumbling for a napkin to wipe my mouth. “He might be? Does that matter? Is the Mage homophobic or something?”

“He seems like he would be.”

“Well—” I’m still dabbing at my suit, at a loss as to where to go from here. “I don’t—it didn’t exactly come up…” my face is warm for some inexplicable reason.

Penny studies me for a moment. She refills my cup for me. “Well. Gay or not, if he’s a vampire, he shouldn’t have gone home.”

“I don’t see how he can. I’m sure the place is still swarming with the Mage’s Men.”

“You should have stopped him.”

“I tried! I’m not exactly his favorite person right now.”

Penny wags a finger at me. “But you’re also not his _least_ favorite person either.” She stops, face falling. She abruptly stands and comes around the table to pull me to my feet. “Come on. Get changed.”

“What?”

“We’re going to go help him.”

“We are?”

She pats my cheeks. “Yes. He’s going to need lots of friends if he’s going to make it through this.”

“What is this all of a sudden?” She doesn’t answer. She spins me around and smacks me on my arse. “It’s late!” I’m only protesting because I don’t know what she’s planning. I do want to help. I just don’t think I want to help in the way Penny is thinking. I’m heading back to my room anyway.

“He’s a vampire!” She calls after me. “Nighttime is his daytime.”

“I thought he was gay!”

“Shut up!”

I’m snickering as I close the door to my room. It’s been a hell of a night, but I’m not tired. Honestly this is better than what I’d planned anyway. I was already preparing to toss and turn all night, awake and thinking about Tyrannus. (Could’ve phrased that better.) At least this way I’m doing something about all of these feelings. (Could’ve phrased that better, too.)

I throw on one of my comfiest green shirts and jeans. I don’t know what is going to happen tonight, so I want to make sure I’m comfy enough to sleep in these clothes and/or be prepared to run if need be. Not that running in jeans is exactly comfortable (or sleeping in them) but I’m used to it. When you’re homeless and poor you don’t worry too much about whether your attire matches the occasion. The important part is that the stuff on your back won’t fall apart.

I return to Penny mentally and physically prepared for anything to happen.

****

So a lot happened. Penny is now a fugitive just like Tyrannus and I. Let’s recap:

1\. We found Tyrannus at his family home. The party venue and scene of the crime. As expected it was surrounded by the Mage’s Men. They had the place on lockdown. Nobody in or out and definitely no Pitch’s or suspicious individuals moving about.

1a. Tyrannus was both of those things.

1b. He was also full of hatred and bloodlust (pun mostly intended).

1c. He launched a one-man undead attack that took everyone by surprise (except for me). He was pretty efficient. And terrifying. And badass.

1d. Until he wasn’t.

1e. The Mage’s Men regrouped with crosses and holy water and rhythmic chanting, but most importantly with fire. Poor Tyrannus never stood a chance after that. They had him contained and congratulated themselves on a job well done.

2\. Penny launched a one-woman magic attack that took everyone by even more surprise (including me this time). She was somewhat efficient. Terrifying. And badass.

2a. I joined her because friends don’t let friends take on an army of Mage’s Men alone.

2b. I like to think I was more terrifying, more efficient, and even more badass than the two of them.

3\. Together we freed Tyrannus and made a break for it.

3a. Tyrannus went with us kicking and screaming.

4\. Cue montage of us running.

5\. We’re back at my place.

So that’s the important stuff. I’m sure a more immersive experience would have made you feel like you were there, but trust me you didn’t want to be. Tyrannus killed some of the Mage’s Men. It was ghastly. One of Penny’s spells accidentally disfigured somebody. (I think it was an accident.) It was all fast and scary and just a little bit confusing. Dragging Tyrannus wasn’t easy. He cursed and pulled at us which made running even more exhausting. And now that we’re back at my place, we’re filthy and sweaty and stinky.

I collapse onto my admittedly hideous couch. It’s brown and green and has some kind of weird twisting pattern on it. I bought it at a garage sale. It’s the very first piece of furniture I’ve ever owned. It’s also insanely comfortable and can fit five people. Penny collapses on one side of me and Tyrannus surprisingly does the same on the other.

“I thought you said you were not going to help me.”

“Change of plans,” I say, panting.

“We couldn’t let you take on the Mage all alone,” Penny adds, throwing a weak fist of solidarity into the air before letting it fall back down. She hits me in the stomach and I don’t even care.

Tyrannus looks over at Penny. I can tells he’s a little confused on where exactly she stands with all of this. “I am going to kill him,” he says as if he’s not sure she realizes this.

“Good,” she says. “Makes the world better for all of us.”

His face softens. He’s not quite smiling, but it’s still a nice look on him. But when he turns to me, his mouth hardens again. “What about you?”

“I’m sorry for what I did. It wasn’t my decision.” I give him a sheepish thumbs up. “I’ll help you.”

He stares at me for a second, but not with as much anger as before. He nods and I can tell I’m finally giving him what he needs. It’s not really the help, it’s the apology for taking his choice from him at a moment that had nothing to do with me.

“So we’re killing the Mage,” Penny says after a long, companionable silence. “How do we do that?”

“I was planning on ripping his throat out,” Tyrannus says.

“I like the dramatic flair,” Penny says. “If we’re going that route, we should outfit you with a cape or something.”

Tyrannus grimaces. “Crowley, no. Dracula? Seriously?”

“Come on, Tyrannus!” Penny says, sitting up. I can see in her eyes that she’s putting his outfit together.

“Baz,” Tyrannus says. “Call me Baz.”

“Baz. Basil. Basilton. Bazzy,” she says, testing it out.

He holds a hand up to stop her. “Just. Just Baz. Please.” She gives him a thumbs up. It’s such a normal exchange between friends that I forget for a second they’ve only recently become acquainted. I don’t count however it is they met for business, because it wasn’t business, and it couldn’t have been more than a quick exchange. I like that Penny never brings up her shock over him being a vampire (or her suspicions about his love life), and he doesn’t seem nervous to be himself. That’s Penny for you. She instills trust.

(That’s why she’s dangerous because she makes you trust all her ideas are good.)

(That’s also why everyone needs an Agatha in their life. To balance things out.)

(Maybe we should call her.)

“Do vampires need to sleep?”

Tyrannus. Baz. (Don’t know how I feel calling him that yet. It’s just so informal and makes me uncomfortable for some reason.) He looks over at me. I can tell he’s looking to see if it’s a genuine question, and it is. “Yes,” he says.

I nod and sit up. “Then we should get some sleep and figure this out in the morning.”

“It is already morning.”

Oh I know. We’ve sat here long enough that I’m beginning to feel tonight and every night before it. “Come on. You can use the guest room.” I stand up. Penny stays where she is, flopped on her side, hair in disarray. She wiggles her fingers goodnight. Her glasses are slipping off her nose and I know she’ll be out like a light as soon as we leave the room.

She’s snoring by the time I turn out the light and head upstairs. I lead Tyrannus. Baz. Basilton. Okay, Basilton, I can work with that. I lead him back down the hall towards my room. The guest room is across from it. I open the door and flick on the light. It’s pretty sparsely decorated. It’s got a bed and a wardrobe and a desk. The curtains are old and heavy so they block the sun as well as black-out curtains. I sleep in this room sometimes when I’m feeling restless and go to bed so late the sun is rising. Like today.

“Um, I don’t have any clothes for you to borrow.” Even if I had spares, he would never fit in them. He’s taller than me and my trousers would look like shorts on him. (That’s an exaggeration, but you get my point.) “Sorry.”

He waves me off.

I stand awkwardly in the doorway. He sits on the bed and looks at me with one eyebrow raised. “Um.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I don’t…I’m not sure how long it’s been since you’ve…”

“Spit it out, Snow.”

“The blood situation.”

He scoffs. “Is that what we are calling it now?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know the etiquette for having a vampire in my house!” I cross my arms now and lean against the doorway. “I don’t know if you’re hungry, or whatever.”

“I can handle it.”

“So you are, then?”

He shrugs. “I am not going to eat you in your sleep.”

My neck warms. “You could’ve phrased that better,” I mumble, looking down.

“…Is that all?”

“I guess.”

“Goodnight, Snow.”

“Goodnight, Pitch.”

“Baz.”

“Basilton.”

“Baz.”

“Basil.”

“Fine.”

I’m still standing here. He hasn’t kicked me out. I feel like I should say something else, but I don’t know what. All I know is I don’t want to go to sleep. I’m too worked up over everything and also…I know I’m going to have nightmares about tonight. I’d rather avoid that as long as possible. I hear the bed creak and when I look up, I can see he’s made room for me to sit next to him. He’s not looking at me, but the invitation is there if I want to accept it.

I go back to my room. I don’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daily updates were never my intention. Scream at me when I stop.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon tries to build trust and Penny has a big mouth.

Penny is still asleep when I go downstairs to make myself a snack. It’s midday now, but I don’t wake her. I’m not ready for plotting and scheming. Since sleep is the last thing coming my way, I want to at least take this time to myself. I need it after last night. I need to breathe and get the images of Basil’s mother dying out of my head. I also need to consider what the hell it is I’m doing.

Everything happened so fast and Penny dragged me headlong into her plans so I didn’t have time to consider what I’d agreed to. I’m going to help kill the Mage. I was against it before and I’m against it now. Not his death, if he died from unfortunate circumstances or natural causes, I wouldn’t weep for him. What I’m against is my part in it. I’m not a murderer. The rumors about me will say otherwise, and I won’t pretend that selling my magic hasn’t likely aided in the deaths of others before, but down in my core, I can’t play a role.

Except I’ve just agreed to it.

I can barely square myself to taking someone’s magic. This? This is…

Then I think about the look on Basil’s face. How fearsome and terribly heartbreaking he was as he held the Mage by his throat. I think about how the Pitch’s deserve justice, and that once again, my feelings on the matter shouldn’t get in the way. I already did that once and I hurt Basil. Deeply. I think he’s mostly let it go because I’ve changed my tune, but before that I could see it in his eyes. His anger and pain and mistrust.

I also think about the fact that the Mage has no qualms about killing Basil or myself. (Or Penny now that she’s gotten herself involved.) The time to turn back is gone. If I want to keep them safe, I can’t lose my nerve.

After my snack I make my way back to my room. I figure Penny will come get me when she’s ready. My hand is on the doorknob when I hear movement across the hall. Basil must be awake. I chew my bottom lip as I remember how he’d left a space for me on the bed. Had he wanted to talk? I didn’t know what to do in that moment until I’d closed the door to my own room. Leaving him felt like the wrong move. He barely trusts me as it is. If we’re going to assassinate someone together, that needs to change.

I breathe in courage from the air and cross the hall. My fist hovers over the door when I hear him say, “Come in, Snow.”

I do. He’s sitting exactly where I’d left him, although his hair is more tousled. He’s even paler somehow and the bags under his eyes are all I can really look at. Instead of telling him he looks awful (not a great trust building start) I say, “How did you know it was me?”

“You stomp around like an elephant.”

Well fuck you, too. “You look awful.” (He started it.)

“And yet no worse than you on your best day.”

“You wouldn’t know what a best day looked like if it punched you in the face.”

“How about I punch you in the face?”

I win.

Basil glares at me. “What do you want, Snow?”

“I wanted to make sure there are no dead bodies laying around.” I know I’ve stepped on a nerve when he looks like I’ve slapped him, which he quickly hides by looking like he wants to rip my throat out. I backtrack. “I heard you moving around. I just wanted to check in.”

“How kind.” He doesn’t mean it.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Vampire jabs are off limits. I get it.” I raise my hands in surrender. “Truce?” His mouth still hasn’t softened. “Let’s start again. I feel like we always end up on the wrong foot.” I hold out my hand. “Hi. I’m Simon Snow.”

“Your timing is always impeccable.” He’s being sarcastic again.

“Well you could stand for an attitude adjustment, yeah?” My tone is aggressively pleasant and my hand is still outstretched. I’m not moving from this spot until he shakes it.

He does. Grudgingly. I smile and flop down next to him, laying on my back with my hands pillowing my head. He’s twisted just enough to look down at me. He’s frowning again. He’s always frowning. If he were human he would have wrinkles by now. “What are you doing, Snow?”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t.”

“Okay.”

“I was thinking.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

I ignore him. “I was thinking about how to kill the Mage.” He opens his mouth and I can tell he wants to say something snarky, but whatever it is, it dies in his throat. He turns to fully look at me, sitting cross-legged. “I was thinking about how to kill the Mage, but also that we have some stuff to talk about.”

He grabs one of the decorative pillows and hugs it to his chest. (Penny says a bed should have at least one decorative pillow. I don’t really get it, but it was a gift and I’ll never turn down a gift.) “Are you referring to your sudden change of heart?”

“That’s part of it. But honestly, I didn’t actually change my mind.” I watch him stiffen as I sit up to properly look at him. “I don’t want to kill the Mage.”

“So, what, you are backing out?”

“No,” I say. “I’ll follow this through to the end. I owe you that. You deserve justice and closure in whatever way you think is best.” I just don’t agree with this particular way of grieving. Again, it’s not that I don’t get it. I just think it will bring problems in the future. Maybe that’s just how I grew up. I’m looking for all the ways for things to _not_ come back and bite me in the arse. I also know I can say this because I’ve never seen my mother murdered right in front of me. I never had the privilege to know and love her enough to know what that’s like.

I watch as he fidgets with the little dangly bits on the corner of the pillow. I don’t know what to make of how he’s feeling. He’s closed off, but there’s no tension in him. He’s not looking at me and after a long moment I hear him murmur, “I have no idea what is best.”

I don’t have an answer to that. “You don’t have to figure it out alone.” It’s the only thing I can think to say. He has other people in his life that love him and loved Natasha. They know what he’s going through.

He seems to be thinking the same thing because he says, “I want to go home.” He’s twisting the pillow so tight I think he might rip it.

I reach out to take his hand. “Whatever you need,” I say. I don’t know if going home is safe right now, but… “I’ll make it happen.”

He’s staring down at our hands. He hasn’t pulled away and I’m a little surprised. I don’t mind, though. “Your hand is sweaty.”

I wrench my hand away, but he stops me by holding it tighter. “Well yours is freezing. I run hot, so what?” My face is burning as if to prove my point.

Basil looks at me and it’s the closest thing I’ve seen to a smile. It’s tiny, barely there, just the quirk of the corner.

But it’s soft.

And it suits him.

“I am trying to understand why you are going through all this trouble to help me,” he says. “You helped me escape from the Mage’s Men twice, you agreed to help me murder the Mage even though you have made it clear you disagree, and now…” He trails off. We’re both watching him play with my fingers. He’s so gentle about it.

“Now?” I prompt after a second.

“You are here. Even though I am a vampire.”

I scoff and now he looks at me. “I don’t care that you’re a vampire.”

“You don’t?”

“No. It’s never mattered. And in case you haven’t noticed, Penny doesn’t care either.” He’s stopped messing with my fingers and I’m trying to figure out how to get him to start back up again without being weird. “I’m sorry about the vampire jabs. I’m really not scared of you or disgusted by you or anything like that. I think you’re a prat, but that’s because you started it.”

He laughs through his nose. “I started it?”

“Yes,” I say emphatically. “You attacked my roots for absolutely no reason.”

“They are awful. You were asking for it.” His hand slips out of mind and before I can be sad about it, he’s reaching over and brushing a curl from my forehead. “Seriously. What is with this anyway?”

“It’s part of my disguise. Everyone knows I’m not a brunette.”

“Hm.” He rubs a curl between his thumb and index finger. “Your cover is blown. You may as well change it back.” He says something else but I completely miss it. My brain isn’t working properly. He smells wonderful. And his hands are lovely.

He pokes my forehead.

“What?”

“What else did you want to discuss?”

I don’t see how anything else I’d planned to say will take a turn as pleasant as this conversation. I almost don’t want to bring any of it up because I don’t want this moment to end. He’s finally being nice to me and not glaring at me. “Um. I don’t think the rest of it is important right now. Not until you’ve decided what you want to do next.”

He nods and I can see indecision weighing him down. I want to take some of it from him, share the burden.

Penny knocks on the door. We sit straighter and it’s in that moment I realized we’ve leaned rather close to each other.

“Come in,” Basil says.

“Good morning, boys. Or I guess, good evening. What are we plotting?” She sits down on the edge of the bed. She’s not as bouncy and I don’t know if that’s because of the weight of her commitment or because she stayed up all night and then slept all day.

“Nothing,” I say. “Not yet, anyway.” She raises an eyebrow. “Basil—”

“Baz.”

“Basil. We agreed on this.” I turn back to Penny. “Basil wants to go home.”

“It’s only been a day. I’m sure it’s still full of Mage’s Men.”

“Oh I know it is,” I say. “That’s why we’re going to have to take back the house.”

“You want to fight the Mage’s Men again?” Basil asks.

“I don’t really count the first time.” I shrug. “That was more of a grab and scram.”

“I’m in,” Penny says. “Nobody should be a prisoner in their own home. Or out of it.”

“Good.” I don’t really ask for Basil’s input. He wants to go home and that’s all I need to know. “Here’s the plan.”

****

Penny and I creep up to the Pitch manor. We stay hidden in the bushes lining the drive while Basil creeps around back. There are guards stationed on the porch and one walking up the drive, another headed in the opposite direction. They are casual about their lookout. It seems they haven’t had to deal with much action since yesterday. My feeling is that most of the Mage’s Men will be stationed inside of the house. That’s where the Pitch’s are being held and I know they’re putting up a fight. Fiona in particular is a hellstorm all on her own.

“Ready?” I ask Penny. She gives one determined nod. I take in a deep breath and she clenches her fist, her magical ring catching the light. “You take the two headed down the drive. I’ll take the two by the door. Go.”

Penny launches herself out of the brush with a battle cry. The guards jump out of their skins and are slow to react. She’s already weaving spells together as I step into view. I notice a there are two guards poking their heads out of the second and third floor windows. Good. The more we can lure out here, the better.

My two targets pull out their wands. I turn and run towards Penny. I hear them shouting spells at me. I’m dodging and weaving as they blast fire. I can hear them running after me. Up ahead Penny has already gotten one guy so tangled in his shoe laces, they're wrapped around his head and torso. He’s wiggling on the ground like a fish as she circles around him, keeping the guard on the ground between the other in front of her.

“Penny!”

She looks at me, sees the guards on my tail, and nods. She turns and runs towards the side of the manor. I’m following her, and now we’ve got three guards at our backs and a whole group of others trying to cut us off. As we round the corner of the house, we come face to face with six guards, all ready to use their magic. Penny and I skid to a stop. In less than a second we’re surrounded on all sides.

“Simon!”

I close my eyes and feel heat start at my feet before spreading through the rest of my body. _I don’t want this. I’m tired. It’s too much. Go. AWAY._

The light is blinding. I keep my eyes closed until the wind dies down, the heat cools on my skin, and the night sky returns. When I open them, all of the guards are gone.

“It worked,” Penny says, out of breath.

“Yeah. I hope I got most of them.” Except for that guy with the shoelace issue, but we can handle him.

“Where did you send them?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” I never do. I just say that I want someone to go away and then they’re gone. I’ve never followed up where they land or if multiple people stay together or get scattered about.

“You’re not worried they will come back?”

“It’s never happened before.”

“Simon Snow, you are seriously scary sometimes.”

I know. “Let’s go see how Basil is doing.”

We jog back to the front of the house and enter through the front door. I’m momentarily stunned by how gloomy the place is, and not because it just lost a precious member of the household. It’s just a rather…gothic kind of place. The kind where you would expect cobwebs and ghosts. I don’t know for sure about ghosts, but I can say the place is impeccably clean. Even from where I’m standing I can see the shine on the banisters.

There’s a scuffle coming from our left. Penny grabs my elbow and drags me after her. There’s no need to rush, though. Just as we get into what looks like a parlor, Fiona whacks the guard on the back of the head. He crumples to the floor. She’s out of breath and her hair is wild and honestly I’ve never seen someone look more alive. She looks up at us. I can tell she recognizes me by her smile.

“I coulda used magic,” she says, “but the bastard deserved to lose a few braincells.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say, and I find that I really am. I’ve never met this woman in my life. We just had a brief moment of contact when she shoved me off of Basil at the party, but I still feel camaraderie with her.

“Glad you ditched the hair dye.”

What is with this family and hair care?

“Is everyone else safe?” Penny asks.

“Yeah.” She nods her head behind her, towards a hallway. “The rest of them are just finishing taking out the trash.” Fiona walks up and puts a hand on mine and Penny’s shoulders. “We owe you one for taking care of our Basilton. They woulda had him for sure without you.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Penny says and I know she’s recalling his first attempt at taking back the house, how he plowed through three guards before we stepped in.

“Oh I am. The git’s been kidnapped by fucking _numpties_ before.”

My mouth drops and an ugly laugh escapes me. Fucking. _Numpties?_

Penny is cackling, bent over at the waist. Her glasses nearly slide off her nose.

Fiona looks satisfied that she’s properly embarrassed Basil because she pats us once and heads towards the hall where presumably the rest of the family waits. Once Penny and I have composed ourselves—

“Fucking,” she starts.

 _“Numpties,”_ I snort.

—We follow and find ourselves in a great room where the Pitch’s have congregated. Basil is surrounded by his family and already he looks better. I’m glad I could do this for him. I can’t help but smile as he is embraced by person after person. Even amongst upturned furniture and broken picture frames, everyone is relieved and whole.

Well. Mostly.

As I look down I notice I’ve almost stepped on a picture of Natasha. I gingerly pick it up and brush away the broken glass. I don’t know how long I stare at her. She’s beautiful and fearsome and gone way too soon.

“Here.” I look up and see Fiona holding out her hand. “Give me that.” I do and she holds it like it is a piece of her. I suddenly feel very out of place, but there’s no good way to make an exit from here. Besides, Penny has already ingratiated herself. She’s talking animatedly about what our contributions to the plan were and how it was my idea.

“Simon is a genius when he wants to be,” she’s saying, and now all eyes are on me. They don’t know what to do with _the_ Simon Snow in their midsts. After all, I know I’ve upended their lives and plans on multiple occasions. Never maliciously. It’s just business. Still. I’m a fugitive and they’re a respected family.

At least they were. Now I don’t know what they are. You can’t erase all that history in a day even with the big secret they’ve kept hidden out in the open.

I give an awkward wave and Penny takes that as a hint to keep the conversation moving.

She’s really good at carrying on.

Until she isn’t.

“So yeah, looks like Simon sent away most of the guards with his magic, which is great. If we’re going to—”

Basil rushes for her.

“Penny!” I gasp.

“—kill the Mage, the less of his lackeys the better.” Basil slaps his hand over her mouth, but it’s too late. The room is utterly silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta say, it's been more than a day since I've uploaded and nobody has yelled at me as requested. Shame, shame (still love you guys tho)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of hurt/a bit of comfort as promised in the tags

Fiona claps her hands loudly, startling everyone. All eyes turn to her, but she is focused on Penny, Basil, and myself. “Well,” she says. “It’s been a long two days. I think everyone is tired and needs to go to bed.” It’s not a suggestion, and it’s not meant for us but for the family, whom protest. In the end Fiona’s will wins and the Pitch’s shuffle to bed. I know they’ll be gossiping about this in their rooms. I glare at Penny.

“Sorry,” she says, but it’s muffled by Basil’s hand. She taps it twice and it almost looks like he won’t let her go. He does, though. The damage is done.

Fiona stands with her hands on her hips. “Do we need to pretend we didn’t hear that?”

She’s giving us an out. I open my mouth to jump on it, but Basil puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

He steps forward. “Do you want to pretend?”

“…Ah.” Understanding shines in her eyes. “I need the room with my nephew. Why don’t you two go upstairs. There’s a guest room at the end of the hall on the left.” I’m glad to not have to be here for the conversation they’re about to have. Penny does not share my feelings and I can tell she’s about to protest. I grab her hand and pull her along. “I don’t have to worry about a pregnancy scare, do I?” Fiona calls after us.

Penny and I laugh. “Definitely not,” I say.

“Not in a million years,” she says.

We follow Fiona’s instructions to the guest room. We pass two bedrooms where the doors are ajar. I hear whispering within, but I do my best not to eavesdrop. I’m scared to know what they think of us now. What if they tell the Mage in exchange for sparing Basil? It’s the smart move. I can’t blame them.

Penny throws herself face first on the bed. I close the door and lean my back against it. My head _thunks_ against the wood. I’m so tired. I want to get out of here. And I’m trying so hard to not make that a spell.

“I fucked up.” Penny doesn’t lift her head where its buried underneath a mound of decorative pillows. (Which is the one you’re supposed to sleep on?)

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I just got so excited that our plan worked.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Disappointed?”

I slide down onto my butt. “I don’t know what to think. Honest.”

“What’s with Baz? He was so sure about killing the Mage.” She sits up, but not without hugging two pillows to her chest and leans her chin on them. “What did you two talk about while I was asleep?”

“I told him I don’t want to kill the Mage.”

She stares at me for a long second. “And I volunteered you for it.” She looks down at her hands where she’s twisting her ring around her finger. “I am _so_ sorry. I’m—”

“Hey.” I reach out my hand as if I’m close enough to touch her. “Stop. You didn’t drag me into an assassination plot. You’re persuasive but not that good.” I smile at her and she tentatively returns it. I know she doesn’t really believe me, but it’s true. I’ve had plenty of time to back out, and there was a moment where I was going to, but I made my choice. “Besides, I’m not even sure if anything will come of it.”

“Did he change his mind?”

“I don’t know. He just lost his mother. I don’t think he knows what to do.”

“What do you think Fiona will say?”

I shrug. I feel fried right now. I just want to sleep. My eyes are heavy and my head falls forward to my knees. I can hear Fiona and Basil, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s just passionate muffle. I fall asleep before I know it.

****

_I dreamt about the party. I was Natasha fighting for my life and my son’s life. My veins were alive with fear but my heart pumped rage. I was the protector. No one was going to take my son from me. I fought with enormous power to destroy an enemy that had hounded my family’s steps for long enough. When I cast my spell, he was meant to die. When he crumbled I was triumphant. There was no part of me that felt regret. Instead I was relieved. Finally the man who was my son’s biggest threat was gone. Now my son could grow as he was meant to, even if it was a little different from a human. Because in the end, that was all I’d wanted. I wanted the world for him and I wanted to teach him how to take it for his own. I wanted him to find love and fulfillment. His road would be hard, but I was there to pave it so that he could take all the time in the world._

_I turned to the sound of his voice, my smile there to ease his fear. Everything moved in slow motion. He was reaching for me, practically tripping over himself in his haste to get to me. I opened my mouth to say ‘it’s alright’ but light split the room wide open. And I was gone._

****

_In the next dream I was myself again, looking at a woman I’d never met before, but whose face I knew intimately well. If I grew out my hair, it was her face in the mirror I saw, not mine. I followed her as she trailed through an old house. The wooden floors creaked under her feet, but not mine. She walked slowly, without purpose, her hands trailing the walls on either side of her as she moved from one hallway to the next. Sometimes she stopped to admire the photos that were scattered about. In one there was a beautiful shot of a mountain in Switzerland. In another was the Grand Canyon in America. Once she paused and caressed the picture of an old man. His hair was dark, but curly like ours. She spoke to him sometimes. Called him ‘Dad.’ She spoke to all the faces of her family and with every conversation, her smile grew more and more sad. Lonely. I’ve had this dream enough times to know. She misses them, but I’ve never puzzled out what happened for it to be this way._

_She walked to the kitchen like always. She made herself a cup of tea and drank it out of old blue china. She rubbed her hand thoughtfully along the old wooden table, fingertips tracing the grain._

_And that’s it. That’s the dream._

_It’s the absolute worst._

****

When I wake up, I’m in the bed. And I’m _sweltering._ I kick myself free of the tight bundle someone has wrapped me in, sweat dripping down my face. I can feel I’m flushed and I’m breathing hard. My eyes prick and once I’m free of the blasted comforter, I’m aggressively rubbing them until they’re even more red than before. I hate sleeping because I hate dreaming. And this is why. It always leaves me feeling wrecked.

I’m curled in on myself when I hear his voice.

“I thought I had nightmares.”

I don’t want to look up. I don’t want Basil to see what a mess I am. My hands are fists in my hair and I want him to go away. I want it bad enough I can feel the beginnings of a spell. “Leave me alone,” I say, voice tight.

“No.”

My stomach clenches and suddenly I’m _furious_. I snap my head up and put his usual glare to shame. Even though he doesn’t move, I can tell he’s taken aback.

“You have smoke coming from your arm.” He nods and I don’t have to look down to know he’s right. I can feel how hot I am. Like a furnace. A flame. If you dropped water on me, it would sizzle on contact. (And at any other moment that’s a fun little joke, but not right now.) It’s my magic boiling out of me. It always happens after I’ve had a nightmare. I can’t control anything and it’s terrifying and humiliating and exhausting and frustrating.

“It happens,” I clip out.

“Should I get the fire extinguisher?”

I point to the door and the motion causes a bit of flame to shoot from my finger. “Get out.”

Now he’s scared. I’m made of the very thing that can kill him. I want to tell him I’m not threatening him, that I’m losing control, but mostly I want him out of here and this is the quickest way to do that. He leaves without another word and closes the door firmly. I bury my face back in my knees. Penny and Basil are talking outside of the room but I can’t hear what they’re saying. He’s probably telling her I’m dangerous or something.

I am.

But Penny has seen me like this before.

She enters the bedroom without hesitation and closes it behind her. She rushes to me and throws her arms around my shoulders.

“Stop. You’re burning yourself.”

“Get a grip, then,” she says, not unkindly. She tightens her arms to make a point.

I don’t want to hurt her.

I take deep breaths and focus on things I enjoy. I have a list. It’s hard to bring to mind right now because I feel horrible, but I can remember the first five things.

5: My room. It’s my safe place. Nothing bad ever happens there. It’s comfortable, spacious, and has a great view.

4: Agatha. She’s steady and strong and courageous and basically everything I’m not. I aspire to be like her.

3: Butter. It makes literally everything better.

2: Penny’s hugs. This is an easy one as I’m wrapped in her embrace now. Her hugs are always enthusiastic and a bit uncomfortable because she squeezes tight wherever she can reach. It makes me feel loved.

1: Sour cherry scones. Enough said.

I’m feeling a bit better. I run through my list a few more times, lingering on each item so that I can replace my sadness with these things that make me happy. I know it’s working because I can feel the sweat cooling my brow and Penny isn’t tensed with pain.

“There.” She sighs with relief, but I know it’s for me, not her. “Same dream?”

“Yeah.” I pull away from her, but I don’t look at her. “I need a shower.” I’m sweaty and self-conscious about it. I’ll come back for her hugs once I’m clean. Not magically clean. Scrubbed raw.

“Across the hall. It’s nice. I used it while you were asleep.”

I nod. As I head for it, Penny tells me she’ll ask Basil for a change of clothes. I don’t have the mental capacity to respond, but she knows I’m grateful. She’s seen me like this before. I’ve told her about this dream, but I’ve never been able to describe it well enough for her to _get_ it. She recognizes that it upsets me, and she’s there to put me together, but I can tell she’s confused. I might never be able to explain it right. It’s just such a specific thing.

I think Basil would get it now, if I told him.

It’s grief. It’s grief not as a word, but as all the emotions inside of it. Because grief isn’t just one thing, it’s a whole mess of things that are connected and impossible to untangle. It’s pain and sadness and rage and loss and confusion. None of things are separate from the other. None of these things can be taken apart and dealt with individually. It’s consuming and it’s no wonder I can’t keep it together.

It’s not that Penny doesn’t know grief. Everyone does in some form for some reason.

It’s that Penny will never know _my_ grief born from _my_ situation.

I’m grieving the loss of my mother, a woman I’ve never met, but whose house I live in because of one desperate search as a lonely little kid who wanted to belong to someone. But that someone is gone and all she left behind were _things_ that were glimpses of her life and a house that told me nothing at all. Yet I can still see the imprint she made on the place. And I know I’ll never live anywhere else because I always hope that one day she’ll return.

It’s not healthy to hold on, but hope is an impossible thing to squash. And sometimes it’s easier to let it grow and prune the branches when it begins to spread too far than to kill yourself in a futile attempt to kill it.

I think Basil will understand a little. Except I also know that in a way his grief will be so much harder than mine because he _knows_ what he’s missing whereas I’ve only been able to guess. He has to live with the outcome of a senseless tragedy.

I grieve for him. Because while I know it was just a dream, being in Natasha’s shoes felt real. And it makes it all the more painful even though I don’t need a dream to tell me how much she loved her son. It was there for everyone to see when she stepped forward and fought for the right for Basil to live. Not just on that night, but every day she kept his secret.

I don’t know how long I’m in the shower. I just know it’s enough for my fingers to get all pruny.

When I step out, there is a fresh change of clothes as promised. I didn’t realize anyone had come in to drop them off. I change into a soft shirt and trousers that are too long for me so I have to roll up the bottoms. I expect to see Penny in the room, but instead it’s Basil. He looks up at me. He doesn’t seem mad, but he probably is. I sort of threatened him earlier.

“Her mother called,” he said as explanation for Penny’s absence.

“Right.”

We’re staring at each other. It’s quiet, but not stiflingly so. I’m trying to read him for any tension, but he actually seems relaxed. He’s reclined on the bed with a book resting face down on his stomach. “I…” I clear my throat when my voice comes out scratchy. “I’m sorry. About earlier.”

“I get it.”

It sounds like he means it. “Really?”

“My nightmares are different now,” he says, “but I have always had them.”

“Me too.”

He pats the bed. He doesn’t quite look at me, and I don’t either as I lay down next to him, my hands resting tight by my sides. Basil’s are too. We’re staring ahead.

I open my mouth to say something, anything to dispel the awkwardness, but he speaks first. “It is always about the same thing. I am trying to escape from a vampire, but it feels like I am running in mud. My legs are too slow and my body is itching to go faster. It always catches me in the end.” He looks over at me and I notice there’s a bit of blue in his grey eyes. “I was turned when I was five. I remember my dream better than the actual incident.”

I’m stunned. He was turned as a child? I thought it was a recent thing. He’s been hiding himself for seventeen years? He’s been a vampire longer than he’s been human, and in both human and vampire years he’s really young. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for him. He’s been able to grow up and have all of these experiences that are normal enough he can lie to himself about what he is. But at some point he’s going to stop aging. At some point he’s going to have to let go of all the people he loves.

It’s heartbreaking.

“I dream about my mum,” I say. His eyes dim a little. I can tell he’s hurting for himself, but also for me. “I never knew her. But in my dream she walks around her house and then makes herself a cup of tea. It’s so normal it feels like a memory. Like something I had. It feels like the only way I can get to know her.”

“I had a dream like that last night.”

I turn on my side so I can properly look at him. I want to comfort him, but there are no words in this world to ease that kind of pain. Even if there were, no amount of empathy on my part would ring true to his ears. A loss this deep makes everything sound airy and shallow. “Basil—”

“Baz.”

I offer a half smile. “We agreed on this. Basil, I think you should kill the Mage.”

He looks surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because he took something from you that you can never get back.” I remember the look on the Mage's face as Natasha turned to dust. He had been satisfied. “He did it thinking only of himself. I think you should do the same.”

“An eye for an eye?”

“In a way. But this isn’t only justice. It’s righting a wrong, fixing the balance. That’s what magic is about. It’s how the world operates.”

He adjusts so he’s on his side facing me. “Fiona wants me to kill him, too. She thinks Mum would want it.”

“I want to help you,” I say. “I mean it this time.” Because nobody should have to go their whole life bearing this kind of grief and have zero justice. “I’ll give you my magic. As much as you need to defeat him.”

He jerks up. “What?”

I nod. “You heard me right. I think, no matter what you decide, it’s important it comes from you. The Mage was targeting you through your family.”

“What if I need all of your magic?”

“Then take all of it,” I say without hesitation. “Whatever you need.”

He slowly lowers himself back onto his side. I can tell he’s shocked by the way he’s staring at me. He’s looking for some sign that I’m joking, that I might change my mind. I’m not. I won’t. My whole life I’ve had to deal with never getting closure. Never having any means to take back control from what the world has done to me. Sometimes it feels like I have, but the ache in my heart tells me that my wounds won’t ever fully heal. And Basil’s probably won’t either, but he has the means to do something about a murderer who is in a position of power. He can change things not only for himself, but everyone else who may end up in the Mage’s warpath in the future.

He clears his throat. “You look exhausted.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’ve slept.”

“There was…something Mum used to do…when I had nightmares.” He tentatively reaches out. “May I?”

My heart is in my throat, but I nod anyway.

“Close your eyes.”

I do.

His hand is in my hair massaging gentle circles with his nails. I can feel goose pimples run down my spine and it’s hard not to sigh. He begins to sing in a language I’ve not heard before. His voice is a lovely baritone that penetrates into my muscles until I’ve practically melted into the pillows. There is a brief moment where I think this situation should be reversed. He is the one who just had the worst night of his life. But then I think about everything I’ve observed of Basil. He’s a caretaker at heart. I don’t think he knows how to be the one that is cared for. As I fall asleep, promise myself that I’ll be sure to teach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to create the proper playlist for this chapter before getting in the zone. Also, does anyone else obsessively check the stats of their fic? Because every time I see a new view, I get excited. (Just goes to show how much I appreciate everyone)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This just in: according to Baz, when you lose blood you die.

I wake up to something cold nuzzling my neck. I always get too hot when I sleep, so it feels really nice. I’m relaxing into it when I feel something wet… _lick_ my neck. It’s slow, as if I’m being tasted, savored. It can only be one person. The one person who scratched my head and sang me to sleep. I don’t…what?

Then I feel it.

The smallest, sharpest pinch on the side of my neck.

I shoot out of the bed faster than if I’d been shot out of a cannon. “Whoah, no, no, no! Not today!”

Basil is sitting up ramrod straight, eyes wide, and hands covering his mouth. “Oh my g—I’msorryIdidn’tmeanto—…” His words are all slurred together because of his fangs and honestly I’ve no idea who’s more horrified, him or me. “Did I bite you?” He asks slowly as if anything but a ‘no’ will make him spontaneously combust.

I put my hand to my neck. My pulse is pounding against my palm. I know my face is beet red. “Not really?” I don’t feel woozy or anything but I’ll have to check in the mirror to be sure. “I felt your teeth.” _And your tongue. And I didn’t hate it._

I’ve never seen someone, already stone pale, get _paler_. He looks like he belongs on a mortician’s table getting an autopsy. “Sorry, I…I have not fed in a while. I fell asleep. I should have been more careful. I was being stupid.”

I don’t know what’s come out of my mouth until I’ve already said it. “I can sit back down if you want. If you need…well, I’ve got plenty of it.” Merlin it sounds like a pick-up line and the worst one at that. (Hey sexy, I’ve got a lot of blood unlike those other guys. I know. Hot, right?)

“Crowley, no! I stay away from human blood!”

“You do?”

He ignores me. He’s gone off on a tangent that I can barely understand, but I know it ends with, “We barely know each other! We might as well be strangers!”

That hurts a little. I helped him escape certain death, agreed wholeheartedly to murder someone with him, and he sang me to sleep and snuggled with me. I wish I remember the snuggling bit, but I’m certain it was lovely. I hold out my hand. “Well then, hello I’m Simon Snow—”

“Bloody hell,” he groans. “I _know_ who you are. “

I chuckle. “I had a hunch you forgot my first name, and that’s why you always call me ‘Snow’.”

“Like you can talk. ‘Basil.’” He says, but in a poor imitation of my voice.

“Okay, truce then. On the count of three, I’ll say your name properly and you say mine, yeah?”

He makes an impressive show of rolling his eyes. “Sure.”

“One…two…three—”

“Snow.”

“Basil.”

I point emphatically at him. “You liar!”

He crosses his arms. I can see now that his fangs have retracted. He has a thing about hiding them, and I wish he didn’t. They’re wicked cool. I guess it’s a tough habit to break, having hid them for all these years. But I also get the impression that he’s ashamed of them. “Like looking in a mirror, Snow.”

“You’ve got a lot of sass for someone who just licked my neck like I was your favorite lolly.”

He’s trying his best to look unbothered but he’s doing a shit job of it. “No wonder my mouth tastes like arse.”

“You would know what that tastes like, wouldn’t you?” I get a face-full of decorative pillow for that. Actually, he pelts every single one at me until I’m practically buried in them. It sounds like a fun game, but he’s not gentle about it. Not only is his aim spectacular, he’s throwing them with all of his vampiric strength. It hurts.

“You are vile, Simon Snow! Vile!”

“Oh, are we beating up Simon now?” Penny sticks her head in the doorway. “Did he kick you too much in his sleep, Baz?”

He throws his hands in the air. “I need to eat something before I rip both of your heads off.” He stands and huffs out of the room, but if he thinks he took his dignity with him, he is sorely mistaken.

Penny bounces onto the bed as I disentangle myself from a mountain of pillows. “How did you sleep?” She asks not so innocently.

“How’s your Mum?” I mimic her tone.

Her smug expression sours. “She’s angry I skipped out on lunch plans yesterday.”

“Did you tell her you were in the middle of a coup?”

“I told her it was more of a _thing,_ actually.”

“Did she buy it?”

“As well as when I was at Watford.”

“So not at all,” I say matter of factly. Mitali Bunce is not a woman you can sneak anything past. “Did you tell her I said hi?”

“I did. She said hi back and wanted to know if you were eating proper. I told her no, so expect a care package at your place this week.”

“I don’t eat poorly.”

Penny shrugs. “That’s a matter of a opinion.” She switches topics. “Are you feeling better? You look it.”

“I do,” I admit. I was able to sleep fine. It wasn’t perfect. I don’t remember the dream, which is always a good thing, I just remember the feeling it left behind. Normally I would still be wallowing in it (I’m good at wallowing) but when Basil….

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“The crying thing or the Basil thing?”

“Both.”

“No.”

She shrugs. “Alright then, keep your secrets. Fiona is downstairs with the rest of the Pitch’s having breakfast—”

I’ve heard ‘breakfast’ and everything else ceases to matter. Like a hound on a scent I find my way to the dining room without any assistance. The Pitch’s are chatting amongst each other. Despite being dressed as if this were a formal occasion, the atmosphere is relaxed. Chatter dies as Penny and I enter and find two empty seats nearest Fiona. I should be embarrassed for how underdressed I am, but with plates of sausages and eggs and pastries, I really don’t care. I’m filling my plate with everything I can reach, and for the things I can’t, I magic them to me.

Fiona is talking, but I’m eating and honestly the room disappears until Basil sits down next to me. He’s flushed. Normal looking. Our fingers touch when we reach for the same pot of tea and instead of being icy cold, he’s warm.

I’m staring.

He refuses to look at me.

I let him take the tea.

“Now that we’re all here,” Fiona says, addressing the room, “we can discuss last night. I know everyone has questions so I’ll be brief. We’re going to kill the Mage.”

I’m expecting chaos to erupt, but everyone seems thoughtful, as if they had already talked and decided this when Penny had announced it last night. Maybe they had, but I was expecting more pushback. Then again, it was one of their own that died at his hands. I look over at Basil. He doesn’t seem as conflicted as before, but there’s nothing about his expression that screams determined.

“It’s not going to be pretty,” Fiona says. “The Mage has a bunch of lackeys that would like to keep him alive. Anyone who would like to abstain, say so now. _But_ ,” now she points individually at each person around the table. “If any one of you so much as breathes a _word_ of what’s going to happen, I _will_ find out and you _will_ be disowned from the family. Got it?”

I’m nodding even though I’m an outsider. Her message is clear and maybe that alone scares everyone in line because nobody speaks up about not wanting anything to do with the plan.

Fiona looks to me and Penny. “You two go home. You don’t need to be part of this, least of all you, Penelope Bunce. Your family would be ruined if anyone found out you were part of this.”

I know Penny wants to argue, she has her mouth open and her finger up like she always does when she’s about to rebute someone. I don’t think she considered the implications for her family until this moment, because words don’t come out.

“I’m helping,” I say. “I’ve already promised Basil.”

Fiona looks like she doesn’t know what to make of me. She likes me, I think, but I don’t think she understands what keeps me here. “Not only will this be dangerous, but people are going to die. Can you handle that?”

I bristle at her tone. She’s treating me like a child. “I think I’ve seen more death than you have.” The streets are not a pure place. Simply just living on them was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not to mention, I’ve lived this long without someone acting as my mother. I don’t need anyone to start now.

She nods and I can tell there’s respect there. “It’s your choice.”

“I’ve chosen.”

She looks to Penny.

“I…” She’s wringing her hands and staring at her untouched breakfast as if the answers are there. We both know they’re not. I wonder if she’ll let me have her toast.

Her hesitation is answer enough for Fiona. “Thank you for doing what you have. You don’t have any further obligation to us. Focus on your own family.” She’s not harsh, but she is firm. She doesn’t want anyone who isn’t totally committed to her family’s success.

I can tell Penny is crushed. I pat her shoulder. She hands me her toast.

The rest of breakfast is about creating a plan. I’m up front about my promise to give Basil my magic. This is met with surprise and one of the Pitch’s, I think it’s Basil’s cousin, asks if I’m charging for my services. I can tell they’re not a fan of me. On principle, the feeling is mutual.

(And for the record, I’m doing this for free. Prick.)

After breakfast we’re free to do our own thing. It’s weird. We spent a better part of three hours battle planning and having intense discussions about the best way to murder someone. The movies make it seem like the next logical step is to gear up and storm the Mage’s home. Except the Mage is out of the country for the moment.

(His men are doing his bidding while he’s on vacation in India. Like, wow, right? A little killing makes a man grow weary of the world. Nice time for a vacation.)

He’ll be back in three days.

Basil and I are instructed to begin practicing. I don’t need to practice giving away my magic, but Basil needs to practice having that much power. Most people do. Common side effects of Simon Magic are: making your aunt turn blue on accident, transporting yourself to Spain instead of Portugal, making your dog meow like a cat, and having magic spilling out of you so that you’re setting fires wherever you go. (Literally these are so common, I have them in my disclaimer.)

(Agatha wrote up a contract that people have to sign absolving me of all liability after one guy tried to sue me when he accidentally put legs on his house and it ran away.) (I still laugh every time I think about it.)

“What are you giggling about, Snow?”

“Nothing,” I say with a snort.

“Do I have to go?” Penny asks. She’s been utterly dejected since Fiona dismissed her. She hadn’t been allowed to stay at the table for the meat of the planning. Fiona had said the less she knew, the better, but I think Basil’s aunt has trust issues. Instead of going home, Penny stubbornly waited on the staircase for us to finish up.

“Do you have a reason to stay?”

Penny frowns.

“Probably coulda’ phrased that better, Basil,” I say.

“I know I need to keep my family out of it, but,” she looks at me, “it’s my fault that you’re involved.”

I sigh. “I told you not to blame yourself. I’m here because I want to be. Honest.”

She shrugs. “Well maybe I also don’t want to be left out.”

That makes me smile. Planning and being at the head of the spear is very Penny. Of course she doesn’t know how to be anything else. I love her for it. I put both of my hands on her shoulders. “I’ll give you a play-by-play if you want, but,” at this I get serious, “this isn’t a game. We are going to kill someone. No matter how much the Mage deserves it, he and a bunch others will be dead.” I squeeze her shoulders. “If I can help it, I _never_ want you to go through something like that.”

She stares up at me and I can tell she can see it in my eyes how much I love her, that I mean it when I say death by her hand is not something she should experience. After a while she nods. “Okay.” She gives me a big hug and I return it. After I’m certain she’s bruised my ribs, she leaves the Pitch’s.

I turn back to Basil and catch him staring at me. I think it’s the first time he’s looked at me since this morning. It doesn’t last. He drops his gaze down to his shoes, hair framing his face.

I cross my arms. I’m not angry, just a bit exasperated. “I won’t help you if you don’t look at me.” He continues to be fascinated with his laces, and you know it strikes me as weird that he would wear shoes in his own house. _I’m_ not wearing shoes in his house. “Look, I’m a snack to you, I get it—” His head snaps up and, Merlin, he’s _red_. I’ve never seen him red. Just fifty shades of white. I lose my train of thought.

“What did you—” He says.

“Blood!” I say, because my brain fails me.

 _“What_?”

Basil has this particular way of saying ‘what.’ Like the word offends him. Like the person he is talking to has offended him for even having to ask. It’s lovely.

I point to his face. “Your face is red. I’ve never seen it like that before.” Inexplicably he darkens even more. “I also noticed you’re warm. Is that because of the blood?” There. A full, articulate thought.

“Yes.”

“It’s really cool.” He looks absolutely baffled. “The vampire thing. The fangs. The blood,” I point to his face. I’m referencing his complexion, not his compulsion, but he might not get that. Oh well. “It’s wicked.”

“Really?”

I smile and nod earnestly.

“Even though I tried to eat you?”

“I mean,” my hand comes to my neck where I remember feeling his tongue. “It wasn’t all bad.” He coughs in surprise. “Just, like, ask next time, yeah? I don’t mind. You just startled me.”

“I don’t drink human blood.”

“Oh, right. That bit. Why not?”

He’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Because that kills people?”

“Does it?”

He throws his hands in the air. “Yes, Snow. When you lose blood you die.”

“When you lose a _significant amount_ of blood _without medical care_ you die. Can’t you just…not drink all of it? Isn’t that vampire 101?”

The light in his eyes dim. I’ve hit another tender spot. “I have no idea,” he says. “I do not know any other vampires.”

I blink. Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“Basil, how much of this vampire thing have you had to figure out by yourself?”

“All of it.”

I want to give this poor man a hug. He’s been struggling all of his life, not just hiding who he is, but also completely isolated from a significant portion of his identity. No wonder he’s such a dick. He’s got no one to show him how to be another way. “When this is over,” I say, resisting the urge to give him a hug, “remind me to introduce you to my friend Agatha. She has loads of vampire friends that can teach you.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “There is no need for that…”

“Of course there is.” I think we’re both a little surprised by the intensity of my tone. “Look, I can’t speak for any of your experiences of being a vampire, but I do know that it’s not something that you can ignore. Okay? They’re cool people, I promise. If I’m wrong, then I’ll be your first human blood donor.”

“…That’s the third time you’ve asked me to suck your blood.”

“Turns out I’m into it.” I shrug. “Can we start magical practice now?”

I’m graced with another of his barely there smiles. He’s still red. “If it will get you to shut up, then yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this was supposed to be the halfway point. The story has other plans. Hopefully you guys are still enjoying it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon does not think people are flammable. Baz realizes things.

He takes me to the back lawn, although ‘lawn’ makes it sound like they have a reasonable plot of land in the suburbs. The Pitch’s have acreage. I don’t know how much, just that the swath of green stretches into a forest. “So, if you don’t eat people, then I guess that’s your pantry?” I’m asking this as nonchalantly as I can. I don’t want to tip him off to how interested I am in the whole vampire thing.

Basil looks towards the forest. “Yes.”

“Cool, cool.” I rest my hands in my back pockets. “Is it well stocked?” He turns to me with an exasperated huff, but I can also see the faintest glimmer in his eye. He wants to be amused, he just doesn’t want to admit it. I grin innocently.

“With fresh unicorns every week.”

My grin falters. “Seriously?”

“They are sustainably sourced.” I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or not. His poker face is good. He doesn’t elaborate. “So how does this work? Do you need my wand?”

I shake my head. “No. A handshake usually works just fine.”

“I noticed that,” he muses. “You never use a wand. Do you have something else on you?”

I pat my chest. “Just me. The only thing I need is the desire to _make_ something happen. I don’t know why. I’ve never found anyone like me to ask.” I shrug. “I was fifteen when I realized everyone else needed some kind of item to generate their magic.” In some ways using a magical item is better. I’ve found magic is better focused and controlled that way, whereas willpower can be a fickle thing. Sometimes I want something (or don’t want something) a lot more (or less) than I expect. My way of magic needs a lot of self-awareness. To be frank, I’m not very good at that.

“I never saw you at Watford.”

“That’s because I didn’t go.”

He arches a brow. “No? Then how did you meet Penny? We had classes together.”

“She knew Agatha first. They were roommates. One day she tagged along while Agatha and I were working. Been friends ever since. If you knew Penny, then you should know Agatha. Wellbelove is her last name.”

Recognition sparks in his eyes. “Yes, she dropped out of Watford her final year. There was no explanation and most people have not heard anything from her since.”

“That makes it sound like she died,” I laugh.

“I wondered if she had, of if she ended up like me. Her parents never mention her.”

I didn’t know that. It figures that Penny doesn’t say much about her. The two of them get along mostly but I know Penny doesn’t like Agatha’s secrecy so that puts a wedge in things. It’s never occurred to me that Agatha might be estranged from her parents. “Agatha is an anomaly. Honestly I don’t know much about what she does outside of work either. I can say she’s not a vampire.”

“Yet she has a lot of vampire friends.”

“Guess she figured out they’re not all bad.” I look at him meaningfully.

“You are the same then.”

“I’m not all bad?” I’m grinning my best shit-eating grin, but before I can lay it on thick he says,

“No, you are horrid. I meant you had to figure out magic alone just like I have had to figure out how to be a vampire alone.”

I pause. I never thought he might be feeling bad for me the same way I am him. But he’s right. Our experiences aren’t so different. I want to ask him if it’s been as lonely for him as it has been for me, but I already know the answer to that. (And saying it aloud would mean I’d have to admit I’m lonely.)

(I’m not.)

I clear my throat and hold out my hand. “Well, let’s get started with this, then. I should warn you,” I pause as what I’m about to say sinks in. I start again with more seriousness. “You need to know that most people have trouble controlling my magic. No big deal, usually, but it’s especially dangerous for you.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I can’t explain it, really, but my magic primarily comes out as fire if there’s no intention behind it.”

He stares at me. “Fire commonly comes shooting out of people and that is not a big deal?”

“Well normally I don’t have to worry about flammable people.”

“Set yourself on fire. I feel like you would change your stance on that.”

“I meant not as flammable as you!” I can feel my face burning. He’s just being a prick again.

But dammit, he’s smiling and it’s almost a full one.

I wiggle my hand. “Just take it. Blow up and see if I care.”

“I think you would,” he says as he takes my hand. He says it so confidently that I want to challenge him, but I know that he is going to struggle with my magic and that will be my vindication.

Giving magic is a process as natural as breathing, and honestly not just because I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s always been easy. I used to do it on accident. It’s kind of like my magic is too big and too great for my body so it’s always searching for an outlet. I asked Penny and Agatha once what their magic felt like for them. They both agreed it was a natural extension of themselves. It’s not for me. It feels unnatural, like it was shoved into me.

Anyway, a little goes a long way with this stuff, so I start small. To me it feels like the release of a pressure valve. It feels good. I don’t know what it feels like for Basil but it’s a fifty-fifty shot on whether or not he’ll like it. Some people have said it makes their skin too tight. Others have said it makes them feel drunk and giddy. Whether or not I like that person is a good barometer for what the experience will be like.

When I look at Basil, his eyes are closed and his face is relaxed. He’s still a bit flushed and he breaths in deeply. I’m graced with a real and proper smile on his exhale. It feels good, then. That makes me happy.

When he opens his eyes, it fades into something like awe. “You feel like this all of the time?”

“What’s it like for you?”

“Exhilarating.” He’s a bit breathless. There’s something like an ache in my chest that I can’t explain, but it’s not a bad thing. “Like I could harness the sun.”

(He looks like he could. He’s so very alive right now.)

“Well,” I say with a shrug, “I didn’t give you _that_ much. I know the feeling, though. You’re not overwhelmed?” My question comes out more hesitant than I mean for it to. His answer doesn’t actually matter that much to me. He’s supposed to struggle with this. I’m supposed be vindicated.

He lets go of my hand and stares at his palm. Between one breath and another he’s conjured a flame that hovers above his skin. “No.” He furrows his brow just a bit and the flame contracts to the size of one pence then jumps and flares up.

“I would stick with your wand,” I say casually and not at all like I wanted him to at least have the harrowing experience of accidentally teleporting himself to Spain. “It helps with focusing it.”

He extinguishes the flame and pulls out his wand. He mutters an incantation in the same language he sang me to sleep. A flame shoots out in the form of a _phoenix_. He’s just showing off now, and I can tell he knows what he’s doing because of the way he’s smirking at me. It flies over our heads, soars into the trees but sets nothing on fire. His control is impeccable. I’ve never seen anything like it.

“Well great,” I say without sounding impressed even though I am. “We don’t need to practice after all.”

He looks over at me, waves his wand with a mutter and the phoenix disappears. “Fire is my speciality. The irony is not lost on me.”

“What’s that language? You sang to me in it, too.”

He reddens a bit at the memory. I wonder if he regrets it or not, or if there’s something else about it that bothers him. “Technically Arabic. More specifically it is Egyptian Arabic. My family has roots there.”

“Really?” I assumed his family was like all the others, born and bred in England. I figured their complexion was more likely from Indian heritage. “That’s neat.”

He shrugs. “I try to use it when I can. Magically speaking, there are plenty of useful phrases.”

“Like ones for a giant flaming bird.” He doesn’t look the least be ashamed. He has a flair for the dramatic. I can’t say I don’t enjoy that. I gesture my hand to the open air. “Not that you need it, but practice as much as you want.”

“How long does it last?”

“Not long. You use it up eventually.”

There’s a pause. “You give away your magic.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Uh. Yeah?”

“There is no getting it back.” I’m waiting for him to catch up with the rest of us. I thought he knew this? He sees the confusion on my face so he says, “Do you feel weaker every time?”

That pulls me up short. I’ve never stopped to consider if I felt less powerful or anything. Usually it feels so much better when I give it to someone that it’s all I think about. And you know, no, I don’t feel weaker.

I finally understand what he’s getting at when he adds, “Your magic does not replenish when you give it to someone. Yet, you have offered to give me all of it if I need it to kill the Mage.”

Oh.

Yeah.

I did do that. Didn’t I?

I’m nodding anyway, as if it’s second nature to me, as if I’ve already considered this and would do it anyway. Because I would. I am.

“Simon. Just how much magic do you have?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, long wait, short chapter. This story is unfolding without my control but I'm struggling to stay motivated.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is smart when he wants to be and dumb when he's got a point to prove.

Simon. He called me Simon. _Finally_. I know there is a bigger question here, something worth discussing, but he called me _Simon_. I should not be this excited. I know I shouldn’t. But I am. I feel like I won something. Like more of his trust or his respect. Something intangible but important. (And I like the way he says it.)

(There’s something bigger there, too. Penny knows it. I know it. I’m just not ready to face it.)

Basil huffs, exasperated. “Stop smiling and focus.”

“You called me Simon.”

“And you will never hear it again.”

My grin is huge. My cheeks hurt.

He rolls his eyes and pockets his wand. “We are done for today.” He strides back to the house and I follow him. “I am not going to steal more of your magic.”

“It’s not stealing if I give it to you. Besides, it’s not some finite resource.”

Basil stops and turns to face me. I nearly bump into him. “Are you certain?”

I blink. “Yes?”

“How do you know?” He’s making me feel like there’s something he knows that I don’t. The last thing I want is to make him spell it out for me, but I’m at a loss here so I don’t have a choice. “You are the only person I know who can give magic to people. You can also take it. That tells me that magic is a resource that comes from inside.” He places his palm over his heart. “I think the average person can go their whole life and never use it all.” Now he pokes my chest. “You are not an average person, Snow. You have so much of it that you do not even notice when you give some away. And giving it away is your business. One day you are going to run dry. Then what?”

“Then what?” I repeat dumbly.

“Who are you without magic?”

“I…” It’s not a question I’ve ever been asked by anyone. It sort of goes back to what we talked about earlier: I don’t know anything about magic. I don’t have a formal education on it. Everything I’ve learned has come from experience or Penny and Agatha. Based on what Basil said, I assume nobody knows where magic comes from, so there is a chance he could be wrong. But the pieces are there and he’s strung them together with a logic that I’m not certain I want to test for holes.

Because I know who I am without magic. I lived it. At my core, I’m an orphan with no special skills and no future.

Basil stares at me and I don’t know what emotions I’m looking at, but they’re stormy. “I won’t take your magic,” he says again.

“But the plan—”

“I’m going to kill the Mage, and I’m going to do it without your magic.”

“That’s insane,” I snap. “Are you telling me you’re more powerful than the Mage?”

“No.” He opens his mouth and his fangs pop out. “But I have these.”

I cross my arms and scoff. “The vampire who doesn’t drink human blood is going to rip out a man’s throat.”

“It was my original plan.”

“It was,” I concede. “Until we all thought up a better one.” He’s set his jaw. I recognize stubbornness when I see it so I let out a breath and try to calm things down. “Alright. You don’t want my magic. I’ve always said all of this is your choice, and I mean that. I won’t force you. But I still want to help you; in whatever way you’ll allow.”

He’s stopped looking defensive. His posture is more relaxed and his mouth isn’t tight. “What keeps you here, Snow?”

I sigh. “We’re back to that, are we? I thought we had a breakthrough with ‘Simon.’”

“Stop dodging the question.”

“I’m not.” I kind of am. “I thought I told you: you deserve justice. I understand your pain and if I were in your shoes, I would want closure. It’s purely selfish.” (It’s not.)

“What if my closure is pretending none of this happened?”

I shrug. “I’d say you should get a therapist, but if that’s what you want, then okay.” He’s doing that thing again where he’s trying to puzzle me out. I don’t feel like I’m being deceptive. If we all recall, I was strongly in the Don’t Kill The Mage camp up until recently. I only changed my mind because it’s Basil’s choice and my own pain makes me want to reduce some of his. Yet for some reason my answers aren’t good enough for him. He’s looking for something more. When he finds it, I hope he tells me, because I’ve dug as deep as I want to go.

“What if I told you to stay out of it?”

“Then I would respect your decision.” It takes me a half second to respond, and he’s found something in my pause because he nods to himself. “You really don’t want my help?”

“I just want to understand. I know you hate to hear it for some reason, but we are practically strangers. Been through a lot, yeah, but we only met days ago.”

“You think it’s strange that I want to help you, but in that same span of time you sang me to sleep. We cuddled.” I fold my arms. “Why don’t you explain that one to me.”

He looks away, hands messing with his pants leg. “We should go inside.”

He’s turned to leave, but I grab him by the arm and spin him back around. “Oh no you don’t. I’ve answered your question, now you answer mine.” He’s quiet for a long time, but I am fully prepared to stand here for as long as it takes. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. I don’t go around letting people snuggle me in my sleep, and having let him do it I’m sure that says something about me, but it also says something about him. If I know anything, Basil is not a promiscuous snuggler.

“It was a mistake,” he says quietly, eyes down.

I roll my eyes. “No it wasn’t.”

He looks up at me, eyes challenging. “Yes. It was.”

“No. It wasn’t.” I take a step towards him. I won’t let him interrogate me until the sun goes down and then turn around and lie to me just to get out of the question. “You don’t just ‘mistakenly’ comfort someone in their time of need. That’s literally not a thing.”

“Well I did.”

My hand fists at my side. He is so _infuriating._ He thinks he can just put up all of these walls and peek out at the world through a one-way window. Like he has control over what people think of him and his actions. “Basil, I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with yourself—”

He crosses his arms. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ that I’ve already made up my mind about you. What you say and do can’t change that, not matter what you tell yourself.”

His lips part in confusion. “Are—are you _comforting_ me right now?”

“I guess I am,” I snap, enunciating each word. “Because you have this _thing_ about not being yourself and not owning your own actions.”

He cocks his hip. “Oh, so a few days and you are an expert on me?”

“In my business it pays to be perceptive.”

“And what do you _perceive_ , Snow?” He sneers.

“You don’t want me to go there.”

“No,” he says hotly, “No, I think I do. Let me hear it, then. Go on.”

“You’ve spent so much of your life hiding who you are that it’s become a habit, but anyone could’ve told you that. But it’s not just the vampire bit. It’s everything. At some point you told yourself you weren’t good enough and one day you believed it and never stopped.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Keep it coming.”

I do. I’m speaking so fast I don’t pause for a breath. “And it’s got to the point that you can’t speak up for yourself. You _don’t_ want to kill the Mage because you don’t think you deserve to. You think you should be punished for everything because you became a vampire—even though you were _five_ and _defenseless_. But everyone is so convinced it’s the best thing for you, and so you go along with it. You also don’t want to admit that you are so fucking lonely being what you are in a family of humans, but you hate yourself so much that you can’t even fathom the idea of meeting other vampires. You don’t want to feel comfortable with what you are. You’d rather flagellate yourself than take the risk that _maybe_ you deserve happiness.” I hold up a finger to stop him before he speaks. “I’m not done. There is one more thing about you that I understand, but it’s not my place to tell you. What I will say instead is that, for me, girls and blokes are equally good snugglers and there was a point in my life where that was really confusing and scary, but it’s not now because I realized who I snuggle has absolutely nothing to do with my worth as a person.”

I’m out of breath.

He’s speechless.

I just read him his rights and I really shouldn’t have. Because what I really, truly want most is for him to be real with me. I want him to trust me. I blew it. I know I have because he does exactly what I would have: he walks away. I don’t follow. I’ve done enough.

****

It’s late in the night when I get up the courage to go inside and ask Fiona where Basil’s room is. She points me in the right direction before telling me to never wake her up again or I would be locked in with the spirit in the bedroom on the third floor. Message received loud and clear.

(That answers my question about whether there were ghosts here.)

I take a deep breath and raise my hand to knock on his door. He doesn’t give me the chance. “Go away, Snow,” comes from behind the door.

I nudge it open and edge inside, ready to flee if he decides to throw something at me or spell me into a slug or something equally repulsive. I can’t say I wouldn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry,” are the first words out of my mouth. If there was a spell that could make a person understand how sincere I’m being, I would have laced them with it. “There was no reason for me to have said all that.”

Basil is facing away from me. He’s sitting at a reading nook by a great window, looking out at the back lawn where we had been before. Ah. So then he had a perfect view of me pacing and berating myself for the past four hours. Lovely.

I close the door and press my back to it.

“How did you know I do not want to kill the Mage?” He asks this quietly and it’s the last thing I expect him to say so it takes me a minute to catch up.

“Because you let Fiona decide for you.” I knew he had been on the fence about the whole thing, but it became crystal clear when he asked Fiona if she wanted to pretend the family hadn’t heard Penny announce our plans.

He doesn’t say anything.

“…So why go along with it?”

He turns just enough that I can see a bitter smile at the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I’m done putting words in your mouth,” I say earnestly.

He let’s out a heavy sigh and turns to face me, but he doesn’t look at me. His elbows are on his knees, his head low, hair falling to cover his face. “Because Fiona is right, Mum would want to be avenged.” There’s a long pause before he sits up, smoothing his hair back. He’s glaring at me now. “I am really fucking pissed off at you, Snow.”

I duck my head. “I know.”

“No. You don’t.”

He waits for me to meet his gaze. I do. Very reluctantly. I hate getting chewed out even though in this case I deserve it. It does something to my nerves—gives me the shakes and makes me want to throw up. (Reminds me why I left the orphanage without a plan.)

“I really hate you because everything you said was right. That is a shit thing to do to someone. It makes me feel like I have nothing left, no sense of safety or self.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again because it’s all I have. “I wanted you to trust me and it—it backfired.” Shit. My stutter is coming back. Remember when I said my coming of age story wasn’t a fun time? I wasn’t joking.

“It did.” I wince even though he’s moderated his tone. “I will not do the same to you, but I think we can both agree we are very similar in a lot of ways.”

It’s a polite way of telling me to fuck off and look in a mirror. I’m kind of mad at myself because if I weren’t so obviously shaken up, he probably would have been meaner about this. I’m not trying to make him feel bad for me. I want the opposite. “D-don’t hold back on-on my account.”

He raises an eyebrow. Does he know he has a talent for making it perfectly arched every time?

I gesture to my face. “It-it’s a thing. Don’t. It’s—it happens.”

“You want me to yell at you?”

“Yes.”

He leans back, bemused. “I do not know what kind of relationship you have with yourself,” he quotes at me, “but whatever I have to say is clearly no worse than what you have already said to yourself.”

I laugh a bit sheepishly.

****

We end up talking well into the night, laying side by side in his bed. Even though he told me I had been right, he reiterates what I’ve said in his own words. He said he is going to go through with killing the Mage because ultimately there is no real closure for him, but he can give it to his family and honor what his mother would want. When I asked him if she really would want him to avenge her, he laughed and said,

“Oh yes. She is merciless.”

Neither of us corrected his use of the present tense.

He touched a little on his struggle about reconciling being a vampire and feeling human—that having all of these normal experiences make it really hard to handle the vampire bits when they happen without his control, like how his fangs pop when he’s eating and he hates that.

“One thing I never struggled with,” he says with a sly smile, “is that I’ve always liked snuggling with blokes.”

I cough a bit self-consciously. “I didn’t know how t-to—the phrasing was all-all…”

“I know. Thank you for not being a total arse.”

In exchange for opening up, I tell him about my life. I think he understands that doing so in this moment, when my words are a mess and my body still thinks we’re at emergency levels of danger, is a feat of vulnerability. I’m explaining my life and it’s a mess, but he follows me and doesn’t judge one bit. I tell him about my life in the orphanage, that it was a run-down overlooked place that never seemed to have enough money. It was the kind of place that attracted people addicted to power and lording it over the powerless. No two days were the same, and when you are a child that’s detrimental. I never felt secure in anything and as a result I used to be a really nervous kid. I was small and scrawny and a target. My stutter was born from that.

I don’t linger on those days the same way he doesn’t linger on the topic of being a vampire. Some things are too difficult to talk about, especially when you are still working through it. Instead I tell him about teaming up with Agatha and meeting Penny and discovering my magic. At one point the topic of my mother comes up, and Basil has made me feel safe enough that I’ve finally calmed down. I tell him about my fruitless search.

“I found out that my surname is Salisbury, not Snow. Even with that, though, I really couldn’t turn anything up. I found her residence and set up my life there. I guess I’m waiting for her to come back.” This last bit I whisper into the air, half hoping he doesn’t hear it.

“Why go by Snow?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel any attachment to Salisbury. It’s not the name that followed me through life. I call myself ‘Salisbury’ and it just reminds me of what I could have been. But ‘Snow’ is everything that I used to be and what I am now. It reminds me that I’ve come really far.”

When the sun begins to set the sky pink, we are both deliriously tired. Basil throws the fluffy comforter over our heads and we’re giggling for no good reason. There’s a brief lighthearted scuffle over who gets the softest pillow, but the matter is settled when we silently agree to share it. Just this once. Just because we’re both too tired to really care.

Basil turns his back to me and I’m supposed to do the same. I don’t. Instead I drape my arm around him because he’s cold and I’m warm and it balances things out.

“What are you doing, Snow?”

“Preemptively stopping you from sleep snacking.”

He elbows me.

I fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Gampyre and QMC for giving me a boost. You are very much appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Day Arrives

I wake to the feel of him gently playing with my fingers. Inexplicably, he is still against my chest and my nose is at the back of his neck. I smile a little. I expected to wake up alone. This is nice. He smells nice. For a wild second I’m tempted to nibble at his neck like he did mine. Then I wake up fully and my sanity returns.

“If you keep nuzzling me like that we are going to have problems.”

“Good problems?”

Basil turns just enough to look at me. “That depends on your definition.”

I grin. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” His eyes are soft.

“How did you sleep?”

“Fitfully. You are a furnace.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.”

I press my nose to him. “Yes it was.”

He groans and faces away from me. “You are a monster and a curse.”

“I slept good, too.” This is all really domestic and I don’t know what to do with myself. I know I don’t want to move, but it’s probably a good idea. A lot is about to happen in few days and…I don’t know. It just feels like a bad idea. Past and future trauma and all that.

“Should we talk about this?” He’s still playing with my fingers.

“You can read my mind. Is that your special vampire power?”

“Is that a Twilight reference? In the year 2020?”

I grin. “Are you telling me your pre-teen vampire arse _didn’t_ obsess over those books?”

“You clearly did if you could make the reference.”

“You understood it.”

“I will not apologize.” He turns his nose up, all haughty and huffy and I want to grab it. He’s just putting on a show. When the laughter dies he does look at me with just a touch more seriousness. There’s a question brewing. I wait for him to ask. “About last night…when I was…stern with you.”

“You mean when you went easy on me?”

“Sure. Yeah.”

“You can yell at me. I can take it.” Not that I couldn’t before, but I actually sound like I can now.

“Actually that is what I wanted to talk to you about.” I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. I don’t know if he’s trying not to offend me or embarrass me. I’d prefer it if he just spit it out. “I would…really like to avoid making you feel like that again. Like…you are unsafe with me.”

I sigh and sit up. He looks up at me and I can see that he thinks he messed up. He’s worrying at his lip and his brows are slightly furrowed. “Okay,” I say. “I can see what you’re getting at.” I offer a smile so he knows I’m not mad. “I don’t usually freak out like that. I mean, I used to, but it’s been several years. And obviously it’s not every time because you’ve _actually_ yelled at me before.” And his hands were at my throat. And I still have a bruise to prove it.

Basil looks at my neck. “What was different? Between then and now?”

“Honestly I don’t really know. It just happens sometimes. My best guess is that I’ve been under some pretty incredible stress the past couple days and my brain just kind of broke down last night.”

He sits up and rests his back against the head board. “So there is no trigger?”

“There is.” It’s just that he doesn’t really meet the criteria. “I don’t mesh well with people in authority.”

“But you get along with Fiona fine.”

I laugh once. “People _in_ authority, not people _with_ authority. There’s a difference. One is controlled by your job and the other is a personality trait.” Usually the former are full of people who have no business telling people what to do. “Anyway, last night was a fluke. I’m good now. The only thing you did wrong was go easy on me.”

He shakes his head. I can tell he doesn’t understand my insistence that he yell at me. I just think it’s fair. I did something rude and insensitive and he should be mad about it. Just because I had an anxiety attack, doesn’t mean he should have gone easy on me.

“Alright,” Basil says. “Next time you will feel my wrath.”

“Good.”

****

The next two days go a lot the same, sans anxiety attack. We practice a bit more with magic even though Basil insisted he wasn’t going to use it and it was a waste of time. I countered with I’d prefer it if he wasted his time than came at the Mage underprepared. Somehow he still had an argument to that, but then again he has an argument for everything.

We kind of sort of bonded over the whole magic sharing thing. It was hard not to. I mean. He got drunk on the power of it all and I got drunk on seeing it.

Hm.

That was weird.

That was a weird way to phrase it.

Anyway the point I’m trying to make is we did our part in preparing for what was to come and so did the rest of his family. And now the day is here. So strap in.

****

From what Penny has told me, Watford is a place that deals with a lot of strange events that causes widespread destruction regularly. Somehow classes still continue. This should not be the basis for an educational environment. Luckily the safety of the students isn’t a concern this time because school is out for holiday. The same cannot be said for the grounds themselves. Whatever happens, this is not our fault. The Mage is hiding his cowardly arse here and refuses to come out. I only hope whoever takes over after this pays the groundskeepers handsomely.

“My nephew insists on dealing with the Mage,” Fiona says at the head of the family. We’re all looking rather imposing at the gates of the school, staring down the Mages Men who, in my frank opinion, don’t look nearly as cool. “So it’s up to us to make sure nobody gets in his way.”

I nod. It’s easy enough. Honestly this could all be settled with myself and Basil alone, but the Pitch’s and the Grimm’s and the Grimm-Pitch’s (Basil has made a special point to explain to me that there is a difference after I referenced his family as the Pitch’s one too many times. I think any distinction is rubbish, but whatever) insist on taking care of their own acts of revenge rather than outsourcing or leaving the whole business to their twenty-two year old vampire relative.

Fiona raises her voice to address the adversaries before us. “Stand aside or you will be moved.”

They point their wands and various magical items.

We do the same, except for me. Raising my hands would just be for show, really.

Just before the tension breaks, Fiona speaks so only I can hear, “Take the Mage’s magic before my nephew kills him.”

I still. The wind kicks up and whips my hair back. She’s springing this on me now? Why? She seemed fine with the plan! I have a lot to say about this, but my business brain kicks in first. “That’s expensive.”

“I’ll pay it.”

“Okay.”

_No. Not okay._

Fiona casts the first spell. The Mage’s Men retaliate, Basil makes a break for the Mage’s hiding place and I feel like I want to puke. But I run after him, because inexplicably I now have a job to do.

I don’t want to do it. I don’t know why ‘okay’ came out of my mouth. I don’t have time to dwell on it. My feet are dodging spells and my will is keeping all obstacles at bay. My breath is ragged because I’m not a runner, alright, but I’ve got to keep moving or Basil will have found and killed the Mage before anyone can stop him.

I don’t even want to stop him. I told him to kill the Mage. I want the Mage dead.

I do.

And this is Basil’s fight.

Right?

 _Agh! So confusing!!_ I shake my head and nearly throw myself off balance. This is stupid. I’m way overthinking something that is already in motion. There’s nothing I can do now but let it play out. If I keep fussing over it, I’ll get myself hurt. I already nearly pitched myself into the dirt like a loon. I just need to focus on…on the job. No. On Basil. On making sure he is safe. I’ve made him my first priority when this all started and I’m going to see that through to the end.

Lightning flashes overhead and I really hope it’s the weather and not the Mage. My head whips around and I’ve completely lost sight of Basil. Fat drops of rain pelt the ground and in seconds it’s become a downpour. I can hardly see anything. This is a waste of time. I don’t know my way around Watford, but I do know _I_ _Want To Get To Basil._

The world warps around me and my chest feels a little tight. Between one second and the next, the ground beneath me is not grass but stone. Crooked stone. I stumble just a bit, but catch myself. Basil and the Mage are looking at me like I’ve just interrupted a powerful moment. I probably have. I wave. “Hi.”

The Mage cocks an eyebrow. “I didn’t think a family such as yours would mingle with the likes of him.”

“Shut up,” Basil says, lifting his wand once more. I step up beside him to back him up.

“Then again,” he says, tone turning to one of contempt. “They saved _you_.” It’s only because I know Basil so well that I see him flinch. It’s the slightest thing. The jerk of his eyebrow, the way his weight rocks back on his left heel. “What are you expecting to happen? You rip out my throat?” His eyes dart to me. “Steal my magic?” It’s amazing how he’s treating this whole thing like it’s one big inconvenience and not an actual threat to his life.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me.” Basil snaps at the Mage and I’m really into how sassy and rude that is. “I am the one you need to worry about. You murdered my mother.”

“And now I must die?”

“It _is_ what she would have wanted,” he concedes with a half smile that only hints at how pleasing the idea sounds.

“How very like your mother to let someone else stain their hands.”

“For the record, I was on the fence about killing you.” Basil’s shoulders straighten. “The more you talk, the more I make up my mind.”

“Then let this be the final nail in my coffin: she wanted me to kill you.”

I take a peek at Basil’s face at this revelation. I can tell he’s not inclined to believe it, but I’ve my doubts. I don’t know, it’s just…so ridiculous and the Mage’s chin is jutted foreword and his eyes are of a defiant man with nothing to lose. If it’s a ruse, I can’t help but believe it. I’m a neutral party. I’ve never known Basil’s mother. I don’t know what kind of woman she was outside of the clues from a grieving family.

Basil laughs. It starts as a single chuckle, then the more he seems to marinate on the idea, the more he finds it funny. He’s laughing so hard he bends at the waist. If he had been alone the Mage would certainly have made a move, however with me standing nearby Basil isn’t nearly as vulnerable as he seems.

“The moment you were turned, she confided in me, told me she couldn’t have a monster in her family,” he continues. “She hired me to hunt you down.” His expression becomes stormy. “The bitch changed her mind and didn’t have the courtesy to tell me.”

Basil’s laughter ends abruptly. He’s ramrod straight, takes a step forward and jams his wand forward. “Do _not_. Call my mother a bitch.”

“I’ll call her what I damn well—!”

“ _Cat Got Your Tongue!”_

The Mage’s jaw slams shut, eyes wide.

_“Stand Your Ground!”_

The Mage is silenced and rooted to the spot and Basil is seething. The rage that has been buried inside his breast is out. He’s got the same look in his eye as when he wrapped his hands around my throat. If he had even a sliver of my magic, he would have burned this place to the ground.

“You _do not_ get to disrespect her memory,” Basil snarls. His words are just a little slurred from his fangs. “You do not get to twist my mind or have a say or a trial or _anything_.” He jabs his own chest. “I am the one who gets to decide! You are _nothing!_ ”

“What are you going to do?” I ask quietly, safely off to the side.

“She would want me to kill him.”

“But…?”

“Death would be too easy.”

My skin prickles, going cold. “Basil?”

“Look at me.” He steps right up to the Mage, waiting until they are making eye contact. “You murdered my mother. You disrespected her name. You have no value for anyone but yourself and you made me live in fear since I was a child.” He puts his hands on either side of the Mage’s neck. “I am going to ruin. Your. Life.” He smiles a long, wickedly sharp smile. Then he jerks the Mage’s head to the side and bites him.

I’m rooted the spot as if I’ve been spelled. I watch with dawning horror as Basil drains the Mage; watch as the mage goes limp and collapses to the floor despite the spell; watch as Basil stands over his body, blood on his lip. He kneels by the Mage’s face. “ _Your Turn.”_

The Mage’s eyes snap open, vacant. His nearly bloodless body thrashes, fingers scrabbling at his sides, leaving gouges in the stone. Basil turns to me. His eyes are cold. Inhuman. He’s the closest he’s ever looked to being a vampire, with red staining his lips. He doesn’t say anything as he walks past me and descends the stairs out of sight.

I turn back to the Mage. He’s undead now. I can feel it as much as I see it. Being around Basil has tuned my senses to the _offness_ , the unnaturalness, of their presence. He’s turned the Mage into the very thing he’s been trying to kill. He’s stripped him of his humanity and turned him into the monster he’s always been. I inch closer. He’s gasping like his lungs have been punctured.

“Not to put salt in the wound,” I say quietly, kneeling before him. “But I can’t risk you coming after Basil, not with magic.” I don’t know if he can hear me. It doesn’t matter, I guess. He’ll understand when his senses return. I put my hand to his forehead. With a deep breath _I Take Everything He Has. Every Drop._

My veins are alight with magic, and if this had been my first time taking what doesn’t belong to me, I would be lightheaded and giddy, much like Basil was when I shared mine. The Mage is—was—a powerful man. Now he’s not even that. No power. Not an ounce of human left in him. It’s sad. Cruel. This is Basil’s decision, and I respect it. That is not to say that I’m not a little scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not drop the project! Life has been meh at the moment and it's sapped my creativity. Updates won't be as fast as they were, but they'll happen. Worst case scenario, if I drop this project for any reason, I will let you all know. 
> 
> 'Your Turn' - a spell to turn someone into a vampire after being bitten. (Since canon is unclear as to how exactly it happens, I've taken liberty)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon deals with taking magic and Fiona reveals things.

I feel sick. My head is pounding, my vision is blurry, and colors I have no name for are making me nauseous. And my skin. Christ my skin feels like it’s about to split open. It’s so tight. I’ve managed to make my way back to the front gates and every step felt like it would be my last. Sweat is pouring down my face and back. It would have been easy to magic myself here, but I can’t. Not now. It’s too dangerous. My body is in the first stage of rejection. This magic doesn’t belong to me. It wants out. Now. If I used even the simplest spell it would all come bursting out in one massive shockwave.

(Yes. I do have firsthand experience of this.)

I just need to make it home and ride it out in peace. I really hope Basil isn’t so far gone that he can’t give me a lift. I mean, none of this went the way it was supposed to. The foreseeable options were the Mage either lives or he dies, not in-between. I have no idea what this will mean. I don't think Basil does either.

Spit is pooling in my mouth. I’m going to throw up.

“There you are!” It sounds vaguely like Fiona. I’m hunched over and I’m not looking up to check. “What the hell happened up there?” Black combat boots stomp into my vision. “Did my nephew kill him? You were supposed to stop him; take the Mage’s magic!”

I throw up. I barely miss her boots.

“Crowley, what’s wrong with you?” She puts her hands on my shoulders and guides me a little ways away. “Here. Sit. Put your head between your knees.”

I do even though I know it’s not going to work. This isn’t like carsickness where I feel better after. “I need to go home,” I say with a groan. I can feel her lean closer to hear me. My head hurts so bad I thought I was shouting.

“Squeamish are we? I thought you were used to death.”

“He’s not dead.”

“I can’t hear you.”

I collapse against her shoulder. “He’s not dead. Basil Turned him.”

She stills beneath my head. It’s the calm before the storm. When my words sink in she’ll spring into action and I’ll just lie in the dirt until a groundskeeper finds me or something. I’ve got nothing left in me. I hurt too badly. “Where did Baz go?”

“Don’t know.” I feel her shift as I become dead weight. “Took magic…” My eyes are closed and my head is so, so heavy. “Pay…up…” I don’t know what’s coming out of my mouth.

“Simon? Simon?” She sounds like she’s in a well. Or maybe I am. The world is spinning and dragging me down…down…down.

****

My awareness returns slowly. The first and most relieving thing I notice is the soft mattress at my back. A comforter is pulled up to my nose, cocooning me in warmth and the smell of the wrong fabric softener. So I’m not at my place. That sucks. The next thing I notice is the dip in the mattress by my head. I crack an eye open. Then groan. It’s Fiona and she’s got a familiar look in her eye. She’s about to hound me for answers. I pull the comforter up to cover the rest of my face. “Go bother Basil.”

“He’s not here.”

My answering groan means I don’t care. I have more pressing matters. Like the way my body feels like it’s stretched too tight. Not my skin, my body. It’s kind of like growing pains. If those pains were meant to signify my body was about to have the same proportions as a giraffe.

“He hasn’t come home. Nobody can find him.”

“…” I pull a corner down to peek at her with one eye. “What?”

“What happened up there?”

“I told you.”

“Tell me again.”

The room is too bright. I drop the corner and close my eyes. “The Mage said some things that pissed Basil off, he freaked out and Turned the Mage. Then he left. I took the Mage’s magic like you wanted.”

“What did the Mage say?”

“Why did you want me to take his magic at the last minute?” Why hadn’t she wanted Basil to know? I guess none of it makes a difference now, but it’s been bothering me.

Fiona sighs. “It was a complicated situation. I didn’t know what was right: honor what my sister would have wanted or protect my nephew? I still don’t know. I thought removing the Mage’s power would be a good compromise.” I envision her running her hands through her hair. “Maybe it’s an easy choice for someone else.”

“Morality is a funny thing,” is all I say. It is a difficult choice, especially when emotions come into the mix. And maybe Basil wouldn’t have appreciated Fiona making the choice for him, or maybe he would have. He had been unsure up until the last moment. Everything had moved fast. It would have been a lot better if, well, nobody had been rash.

“What did the Mage say?”

“That Natasha had asked him to kill Basil.”

Fiona doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t immediately deny it.

_She’s sighing._

I throw the comforter off of my face so I can see hers. She’s wringing her hands, her lip is wobbling and if she were the type to show any emotion but anger, she might have started to cry. She won’t. I know she won’t. But the guilt is clear. “No.” I’ve barely uttered it. It’s more of a whisper. Basil had been _sure_ the Mage had been lying, had only been trying to buy time. “ _No.”_

She bows her head. “She was a different person back then. It took her a while to change.”

I hold up my hand. “Stop. I don’t want to hear this.” I don’t want to know anything about it. I want it scrubbed from my brain because this is _not_ my business. It’s not. And even though I know I care about Basil enough that I could easily make it so, I won’t. Her words are not for me. “Basil didn’t believe him. I don’t think so, anyway. I’m not going to be the one to tell him otherwise.” I can see that her explanation wants to come pouring out. After so many years locked away, she wants to be relieved of this burden. However if Basil doesn’t know, then I’m of the opinion he never needs to. It’ll only hurt him. That’s why I won’t shoulder the truth with her. I refuse to be the person who has to make the choice of whether he should know it or not.

“I love him. She did, too.”

I turn away from her, shutting down the conversation. “I don’t know where he is.” Basil has a lot to deal with. I can’t even begin to understand what’s going on in his mind. When he’s ready to come back, he will. “Please call Penny to pick me up. I want to go home.”

She leaves.

I want to throw up.

****

Penny leaves me to work through what I call Magic Sickness in my bedroom. I know she’ll stick around until I recover and she won’t ask any questions until my head’s on straight. I won’t go into the gory details of Magic Sickness. Just know that it involves a lot of sweating and aching limbs and rashes and tender skin and nausea and migraines and throwing up. Okay, I guess you get the gory details anyway.

But that’s just the physical stuff.

The mental stuff sucks just as much, and I would argue it’s worse because it lasts longer than a couple of days. There’s a lot of guilt and self-loathing involved. I mean, I did just take a fundamental part of someone’s existence. I know what it’s like to be nothing, and now I’ve bestowed that onto someone else. Yes, he’s still alive, but Magicians don’t know how to be Normal. It doesn’t compute for them. And now I now the breadth of the Mage’s power. I feel it now. The magic that was in his skin is astounding.

And it calls to him.

It aches for him.

So in a very weird way, I do, too. Even though I know he is an awful man. Even though I know he planned awful things.

His magic is going to teach me about him little by little. I’ll be more familiar with it as I get back to my regular self. Certain spells will come easier, will feel like muscle memory because the Mage was partial to them. The instinct is to assume I mean big spells like ones to fight or hurt someone with, but really I’m talking about the spells he uses for his morning tea or to fix up his house.

This magic will never be mine. It will always belong to him. This is what I have to live with for the rest of my life.

****

“Penelope Bunce you are a godsend,” I say when she opens the door holding a massive tray piled with breakfast.

She smiles at me. “I take it you feel better.”

“Much.” I sit up and eagerly pat my lap. She sets the tray down and I dive right in.

“Mom made you scones—oh, you noticed.” She laughs as I try to fit two of them in my mouth. “You are going to choke.”

 _Then I died as I lived._ My mouth is too full to say anything, but I know she can read my mind. She watches me eat with a smile, politely waiting for me to finish so that she can grill me about what happened. I’m so absorbed with lovely, delicious food that I don’t even care. She brought me scones. She can ask me whatever she wants.

I finish the whole tray in about ten minutes. I lean against the wall with a content sigh and pat my stomach. “I needed that.”

“I noticed.” She pushes my bangs away from my face. “You look like hell.”

“I probably lost, like, thirty pounds.”

“And gained it back plus ten,” she grins. She’s got a twinkle in her eye that I know really well.

“You want to know what happened.”

“I can wait.”

“Hah!” I roll my eyes. With something as major as this, I’m surprised she started with breakfast. It’s more like her to hold it hostage until I tell her absolutely everything, down to who was wearing what. “Spoiler alert: the Mage isn’t dead.”

She tilts her head. “I actually figured that might happen.”

“But did you figure Basil would Turn him?”

Her eyebrows are at her hairline. “No. No, I didn’t.”

I launch into the story, sparing no detail as promised. I relive every single moment so that when she is all caught up, she feels like she lived it, too. The only thing I don’t tell her is what I tell myself I’ve already forgotten. Fiona’s confession does not exist in the version I’ve given Penny. It does not exist for me.

(Not even in parenthesis.)

“Do you think Baz has gone home by now?” She asks.

“No idea.”

“Should we go check?”

“No idea.” By all accounts, everything has been squared away on my end. I’ve fulfilled my promise to both Basil and Fiona. I also got a message from a confused Agatha about a Pitch cousin stopping by the shop to drop off payment. I don’t have anything to do with this anymore. Except, like, we all know I do. Because Basil did a pretty major thing and we’ve gotten close and I want to check on him. I want to know that he’s okay and that he’s coping with ruining someone’s life. (His words, not mine.)

It’s also been a week. If he hasn’t gone home by now, then it’s past time to worry.

“If you’re well enough to eat, then you’re well enough to travel.”

“You realize those things don’t correlate at all, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s you, so they do.”

I can’t argue.

She leaves me to refresh and become a person again instead of a Magic Sickness Creature. I scrub away the yuck with my favorite soap and scorching hot water. My muscles still ache a little, but that’ll go away as I recover and move around. I throw on my comfiest clothes and meet her downstairs. She’s already got her keys in her hand and her purse over her shoulder.

“Took you long enough.”

“I was sick,” I say indignantly.

“Excuses,” she scoffs, with no bite to her words. She throws open the front door and is too busy ribbing me to notice Basil standing at the stoop, hand raised to knock. She runs right into him. “Oh—Baz!” He’s trying to steady her, but she shoves his hands away so that she can give him a proper hug. He’s looking at me over the top of her head.

Oh, he’s not doing well.

“We were about to go looking for you,” Penny says. She looks up at him and I can see she notices, too.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask.

“Please,” he says.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz dance and drink away all of their problems

We sit around my little table in the kitchen, tea steaming in blue china. Penny and I are staring at Basil, and he’s staring off into middle-distance. We’re waiting for him to say something, anything. It’s quiet for so long that when I finally lift my cup to my lips the tea has gone cold.

Penny clears her throat and stands. “Well, I better get home.” She gives me a meaningful look that I don’t know what to do with. “I’ll be by tomorrow.” On her way out she squeezes Basil’s shoulder, pauses, shrugs, and gives him a big hug. I see light come to his eyes as he returns from wherever he was. The angle doesn’t allow him to return the hug, so he awkwardly squeezes her forearm. She gives him an encouraging smile and leaves without another word. A moment later, I hear the front door open and close.

We’re alone.

He stares at me.

I stare at him.

“You look awful,” I say at last. His expression softens just the slightest. A quirk of the corner of his mouth, the furrow in his eyebrows less severe, but he doesn’t say anything. Shockingly enough, I want one of his rude quips—anything that will tell me he’s okay. But of course he’s not. I mean, he showed up on my doorstep after disappearing to who knows where. I clear my throat. “Well—”

“I should not have come.”

I blink. “What?”

He pushes his untouched tea away and stands. “Sorry. This is weird.”

“Asking for help isn’t weird,” I say, belatedly realizing that I’ve stood too, palms on the tabletop. “What do you need?”

“I…” He lets out a long breath. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nod.

“You know what to do with ‘I don’t know’?”

“No.” I shrug. “But that’s kind of been my whole life. I’ve made it work so far.”

“How?” His question is weighted with more, but neither of us are ready to unpack any of that. All in good time.

“Can you get drunk?”

He raises a brow. “Understand that question alone completely negates any advice you give me about coping with trauma.”

“First of all nobody should ever listen to my advice.” I rummage around in my cabinets. “Wine or booze?” I grab the neck of two red wine bottles and hold them up for him. “Correct answer. Wine drunk is much better than any other drunk. Mostly.”

I grab two wine glasses that only exist in my possession because my long-gone mother left quite the collection. (No judgement. I’ve been putting them to use, too.) I tilt my head to indicate we’re taking this party elsewhere. Because it will be a party. The best way to cope is to not deal with anything at all.

I know what I said.

This is why nobody should listen to me.

Anyway I take him to the most unlikely room in the house. The karaoke machine was there before I came along. It’s only programmed with early 2000’s hits. This tells me two things: my mom loved to sing and she had no shame. The Dance Dance Revolution machine came after I got here. This is where I say Penny bought it for me and I guess it’s fun. But no.

Truth time.

I splurged and ordered it online. I was completely sober and I have no regrets.

Basil stops in the doorway. I pour generous glasses for us and completely act like like he’s the weird one for thinking this is weird. I hold out his glass. I can tell he’s sizing up the situation I’ve just put him in.

Oh yeah. This is happening.

He takes a big swig and makes a face after. For the record I know nothing about wine. I have no idea if I’ve just given him something good or not. It’s all sour grapes and a means to an end for me. I gesture to the two machines. “Pick your demise.”

“Just so we are clear,” he says, eyeing DDR, “you are telling me to dance and drink away all of my problems.”

“I’m not telling you to do anything with your problems.” I turn off the main light and switch on the colorful fairy lights that are pinned up along the ceiling. (They are literally in the shape of fairies.) Agatha bought them for me and I still can’t tell if they were meant to be a joke or if she likes girly things more than I thought. Either way I think they’re dope. They have a disco ball effect, but somehow not as tacky as the real thing.

“And…this works for you.” It’s a question, but not. It’s more a statement of disbelief.

I gesture around us. “I mean, I live in the home of my mother who may or may not be alive in the hopes that one day she’ll come home and we’ll live happily ever after.” I shrug. “Take from that what you will.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I hear it die in a puff. He holds up his glass. “Cheers.”

I grin and tap our glasses together. He downs half of his. I don’t know if he’s throwing himself into this or if vampirism gives him higher alcohol tolerance. It doesn’t matter. He picks DDR and it. Is. On.

I lean against the railing as he scrolls through the song choices. “Now that I think about it, this probably isn’t a good idea.”

He remains focused on the screen, foot _tap tapping_ on the arrow. “And why is that?”

“Well, this is supposed to make you feel better.” I wait for him to look at me so that he gets the full effect of my smirk. “And I’m going to kick your ass.”

He rolls his eyes and makes an inelegant snort. The drama. The sass. It’s a lot for someone who has no idea what kind of moves I have. He doesn’t even bother to banter with me. Instead he stomps his foot on the center square. I am blessed with impressive side-eye as Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance” begins. He hands me his drink. I take it.

The arrows scroll down the screen. He tosses his hair out of his face and _slides_ into the song. He’s not just matching the arrows like a machine. He’s put his body into each motion. He jumps on double arrows like he’s the choreographer. He’s clapping his hands to the motions, keeping time to the beat of his heart.

_I love this record, baby, but I can’t see straight anymore._

I’m honestly dumbfounded. This is the first time I’ve seen Basil let loose. He’s dancing unselfconsciously, eyes fixed on the screen, in his own world. When I brought him up here I thought I would have to fight his rigid sensibilities. I thought I would have to sell my soul just to get him to stomp on the arrows on easy mode. But he’s acting like he’s done this before.

No.

Like _we’ve_ done this before.

Like letting loose here at my place is the most natural thing in the world.

_Just dance, gonna be okay…._

I take a drink. He’s going to be competition after all. The score on the screen confirms my thoughts. “For the record, I don’t do that song often.”

“Of course not,” he says dryly as he types in _Baz_ on the high score list, forever marking that he was here and for this song only he may have, possibly, just this once, beat me. He steps off the platform and grabs both of our drinks. He downs his. “Try not to make yourself look bad, Snow.”

“I’ve never looked bad in my life, Pitch.”

“What?” He says without any surprise. “Not ‘Basil’?”

I step onto the platform. “With that attitude? No. You have to _earn_ ‘Basil’.”

“Does that mean I have to earn ‘Baz’, then?”

“Let’s not shoot for the stars.” I scroll down to Fall Out Boy’s “Dance, Dance.” It’s fast, it doesn’t allow for any breaks, and it requires a lot of jumping in time. I’m starting with one of my stronger songs. And, like, yeah I know this is supposed to be fun (and it is) but also I absolutely have to be a better dancer than a man named Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. At least as far as DDR is concerned. I own the machine. I have no excuse to lose. He’ll never let me live it down.

Ever.

The game starts and I ignore Basil leaning against the railing. He’s staring at me and he’s using those damn eyebrows to their fullest extent and I refuse to let him pressure me into making a mistake. And honestly the song is too fast for me to focus on much else. I’m jumping and clapping and nearly twisting my ankle to hit the right buttons, but it doesn’t matter. My breath is pushing through the smile on my lips and my heartbeat is in my ears.

By the end of the song, I feel a bead of sweat drip down the side of my face. I glance over at Basil, triumphant and gloating because I _killed_ that song. He’s looking intently at me, but not at my face. I feel it at my throat and for a minute I wonder when the last time he fed was. Hopefully the Mage wasn’t his last meal.

The moment passes. He drinks the rest of my glass and I gape at him. “You bastard!”

He shrugs. Unapologetic.

The rest of the night turns into a blur shortly after I pour and then finish my second drink. That’s the beauty of wine. It sneaks up on you. You’re having fun and saying things without realizing that the alcohol has already invaded your brain. I’m not drunk yet, just happy. Especially when I lose my competitive edge and the two of us take turns picking songs to be ridiculous. I am downright _cackling_ when he picks Rihanna’s “Disturbia.” I mean, he is literally the thing that goes bump in the night. I danced to “Air” for no other reason than the artist is DJ Simon.

I’m dancing to Ne Yo’s “Closer” when Basil joins me on the platform. While everything else has been a pleasant haze of laughter, this moment — our bodies, his hips, my hands hovering over his skin, his hair tickling my face, the alcohol on his breath — is crystal clear.

All I can think is his mouth, his _mouth, his mouth._

The song ends abruptly, the screen showing that we failed the song.

The smallest laugh escapes him. I look into his eyes and I have no idea what to do with the intensity in them. I know what I _want_ to do, but before I make up my mind, he stumbles back. Despite having never touched him, I feel the loss of him like a burn.

He’s all I think about even after we’d polished off a third bottle.

He’s all I think about while we sing badly and incoherently on the karaoke machine, while we laugh at things that are only funny when you’re stupid levels of drunk, while we order and then eat what is probably the nastiest pizza ever.

We’re side by side on the floor. He’s passed out and I study him through my eyelashes. He’s wreathed in a rainbow from the fairy lights above us and it strikes me again how beautiful he is.

And then I think, _I want you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't always do my research, but when I do, I watch videos of DDR to make sure it's accurate so you don't have to. I know, I know, not all heroes wear capes


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny makes pancakes, Simon goes to work, and Agatha deigns to make an appearance. Briefly.

I think someone is staring at me, but my head is pounding so I don’t want to open my eyes and check. If it’s a murderer then today is their lucky day. I am utterly disposed. No fight in me. Dead to the world. (But I do hope it’s not a murderer because I am partial to living.)

“Simon.”

It’s Penny.

Thank heavens.

“Simon.”

“Ngh.”

“That’s the spirit. Do you want waffles or pancakes?”

“Uuuugh…”

“Excellent choice.” I hear her get to her feet. “It’ll be ready in fifteen. Pull yourself together by then.”

I manage to do as she asks, but I don’t recall how. One minute I’m in a black haze of vague memories of the night before and pain, and the next I’m seated at the table. I’m fairly certain I got here with my eyes closed, because the light is blinding and I don’t remember it being that way throughout the rest of the house. Oh well. Penny has just set steaming pancakes in front of me and that’s all that matters. I don’t need my eyes to eat.

She sits across from me with her own stack. “I can’t tell if you had a rough or great night,” she says. I feel her studying me and I have an inkling of what she sees. Disheveled clothes from the day before, hair perfectly assembled for a nest of baby crows, squinty eyes, etc. Honestly my best nights and my worst nights don’t look that much different in the morning. Hm.

Speaking of: “Where’s Basil?”

"Said something about taking care of, and I quote, 'the blood situation.'" She grins at me. “It’s cute that he’s the first and last thing on your mind.”

“I—” my face is heating. “That’s not true!” I’m spluttering so it kinda is (not).

“Please. You can’t say two words to me until you realize your precious Baz is missing.”

“Slander!”

“And the way you two were curled up when I found you?” She takes a prim sip of her tea. “There’s no way he wasn’t the last thing on your mind before you blacked out.”

“Lies!” I think I might burst into flames. Surely my whole body is smoking from embarassment. It’s not, but it should be.

“I feel like he’s earned the right for you to call him Baz by now.”

“Blasphemy!” Because my brain isn’t in any shape to work at full capacity and it is much easier to shout half-baked denials.

She scoops a mound of butter onto my pancakes and spreads it out for me. There’s too much for all of it to melt. “You dropped the whole ‘Penelope’ bullshit in .2 seconds.”

“I still call Agatha ‘Agatha.’”

“That’s because she would kill you if you called her anything else.”

This is true.

I spear my butter-with-a-side-of-pancakes and eat in what can only be described as petulant silence. I’ve been called out with nowhere to hide. I’ve no idea what Penny walked in on, but I bet it was embarrassment, not the blood situation, that had Basil hustling out the door. I wonder if he’ll come back. We resolved absolutely nothing last night and now I wonder if that was the best thing for him.

Penny should have stayed. I’m glad she didn’t, but she should’ve so that he could talk to someone with emotional intelligence.

“Simon.”

I groan. She’s using what I call her animal tamer voice. She’s never actually used it on animals, but she’s used it on me plenty and it always works. (Now that I’ve explained it, I hear it. Hm. Time to come up with another way to describe it.) She’s also staring at me with the force of her kind eyes and I’m putty in her hands. “What?”

“Don’t grumble at me. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll drop it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You guys were cuddling.”

“Penny.”

“Like. Wrapped around each other—”

_“Penny.”_

“Practically the same person—”

“Penny!”

“Okay.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine.”

I murder my pancakes by drowning them in syrup. Part of the reason is because the syrup comes out way too fast, but mostly it’s because I’m gathering my thoughts and hangover makes it difficult to do two things at once. “I like him,” I say at last. “What else do you want me to say?”

“It’s not that I want you to _say_ anything. I just don’t want you to keep hiding it.” She sits back in her seat. I don’t think she realized she was using physical pressure as well as verbal on me. I’m glad she removed both.

“Hiding it from you or from me?”

“Both.”

I sigh. “Of course.” I don’t say anything else and instead focus on eating breakfast. Once I get something in my stomach I can half-heartedly tackle this conversation. When I’ve scraped my plate clean, I push it away. “What does it matter?”

“It only matters if you want it to matter.” She points her fork at me. “What I want to know is why this conversation is causing you angst. We’ve talked boys—and girls—before and it’s never made you…despair.”

“Despair.” My voice is incredulous. “That’s a strong word.”

“Apparently you have strong feelings.”

“For Basil?”

“For Baz, about Baz, around Baz.” She shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I see.”

“You’re reading into it.” She doesn’t believe me. That’s a little frustrating because these are _my_ feelings we’re talking about, not the ones she wants me to have or whatever. “Look,” I begin forcefully, “do I think Basil—”

The very man in questions walks into the room.

I jump tracks immediately.

“…Basil’s hair was a disaster last night? Yes. Yes I do.”

“My apologies, Snow,” Basil says smoothly, sitting in the seat between Penny and I. “Next time I come to your house for an emotional catharsis, I will be sure to look presentable.”

I fold my arms and lean back in my chair. “That’s all I ask, really.”

Penny gets up to grab a plate for Baz. She moves like she had been expecting him to show up the whole time. Maybe she had. Either way I’m glad she doesn’t give me one of her looks that says we’ll continue the conversation later. The silence is already awkward without it. I don’t know how much Basil heard, but there is a thoughtfulness in his look (and a lack of bite in his words) that means he knows we were talking about something he isn’t supposed to hear. She sets it down in front of him and retakes her seat. “I assume you want food, food as well.”

He smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”

We sit in silence for a moment while he puts a pitiful amount of syrup on his pancakes and forgoes the butter entirely. Disgusting.

“Fiona was looking for you.” Like, a week ago, but I get the impression he hasn’t gone home yet and I feel like I have some small duty to let him know his family is worried about him. However I can see that my message is unwelcome because he tenses a bit. Not a lot, but enough to make me squirm. To break the tension I add, “She thought you got kidnapped by numpties again.”

The glass of water he’s holding shatters in his grip.

Penny and I jump back.

“…How do you know about that.” It’s not a question.

I get up and grab some kitchen towels and hand them to him. “The story may have slipped out.”

“I am going to kill her.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Penny says, “we’ve already had a good laugh about it.” It’s painfully obvious she’s holding back her amusement.

“Yeah,” I grin. “It hardly ever comes to mind when I look at you.”

“I will set you both on fire,” he grouses.

“Only after you’ve bought me a new glass.”

“No.”

He’s so sulky, Penny and I can’t help but burst into laughter.

****

I’ve mentioned before that I have a job. That’s probably not believable since I haven’t been to it in a while. To that I would argue that I’ve been working overtime and I’ve technically brought my work home with me. Multiple times. Even after I’ve completed the job and gotten paid. And sometimes, when work shows up at my doorstep, I dance and get drunk and have a crush on it.

None of this is standard.

But we all have to adapt, don’t we?

After breakfast I announce that I will be going into the shop because some people have to pay bills and be a respectable member of society. We all know I’m only half of that equation, but nonetheless Penny blows me a kiss and tells me to have a good day. Basil tells me to eat shit and die because he’s still not over me mercilessly teasing him about the numpties.

He does blow a sarcastic kiss.

I catch it with a flourish and (un)sarcastically press it to my chest.

I take a bus to the outskirts of town where the shop is located. It’s in the warehouse district because it fits the vibe and, as I’ve stated before, customers like it to be out of sight. It’s about a twenty minute ride, but I like to stop at the bakery a mile out and walk from there, so it usually takes me about forty minutes.

Agatha is seated behind the counter typing away at her laptop. I stop short in the doorway. She’s acting like it’s only natural that she beats me here, but honestly I’m surprised to see her. She shows up whenever she feels like it. I don’t mind. It just means that when I do see her, I’m always pleasantly surprised.

“So I was running the numbers after the payment from your last job,” she says, still typing away, “and you could go on holiday for a month or so while I go on that trip to America.”

I tilt my head. “You’re going to America?” She says it so casually that for a hot minute I think I’ve forgotten she told me. But no. I would remember something like this.

“Briefly. There are schools I want to look at.”

I’m lost. “Schools?”

“Thanks to whatever you did, I can pay for my plane ticket and get a room in a nice hotel.”

Let’s be honest. Thanks to that job she can pay for much more than that. Agatha is money savvy, though, so she prefers to save and invest her funds for the future. A future she has apparently been planning for some time.

I walk up to the counter and lean over to peek at her screen. It reveals nothing. It’s just a spreadsheet with all the business things that make my head hurt. “Do I need to put in a hiring ad?” I say it lightly, but I don’t want Agatha to leave.

“That depends on what I decide when I get back.”

I bite my lip. “But you are leaving.”

“Briefly,” she repeats.

I tap on the counter to get her to focus on me instead of the screen. She does.“You know I never ask you anything about your life.”

She smiles. “That’s why I love you.”

“Of course. And I love you.” I tap my fingers again, but out of habit this time. “But if you’re planning on leaving me, I would like to know.”

She leans her chin in her hand and studies me a moment. I don’t know if she’s seeing me or wrapped in her thoughts. “There is no plan,” she says after a minute. I can hear the truth in her words, but her pause tells me that she hopes there will be one.

“Will you tell me when that changes?” If Penny were here she would push and pull for details and Agatha would shut everything down. It’s not that I’m not curious, because I am. I’m dying to know what she’s hoping for. At the same time I also respect the fact that I have more attachment to Agatha than she does to me. She’s got her own life and is kind enough to share just a small part of it.

(She’s also weirdly secretive and I feel like there’s a story there.)

“You’ll get your two-week notice.”

My mouth thins and I make a disgruntled sound. I was actually wanting more than two weeks, but Agatha does what she wants. It’s not worth an argument so I’ll save the griping for Penny. “Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I assumed you carried out the Mage job.” She closes the laptop and fishes out a cigarette from her purse. She flicks her fingers and lights it. “Considering how long you have been away, I would guess it got complicated?”

“You could say that.”

I fill her in on everything she missed, sparing some detail. Agatha likes her stories straight to the point with only a little fanfare to keep it interesting. Since the news is already out, I don’t feel bad telling her about Basil being a vampire (“I knew something was off about that guy”), Basil Turning the Mage (“Karma’s a bitch”), and that I did take the Mage’s magic, but on behalf of Fiona, not Basil (“Technically he still owes you money since he hired you first”).

“I’m not taking his money when Fiona’s already paid.”

Agatha shrugs. “It’s your business.” She stabs out the last of her cigarette in the glass ash tray. “So what I’m hearing is that you and the Pitch’s are criminals.”

“Well—” I stop. I hadn’t thought of the consequences since everything went down. I’ve been holed away in my house. I haven’t checked to see how the rest of the magical world is taking the news. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Um. Lay low?”

She doesn’t look impressed with my answer. “Then now is a good time for a holiday, don’t you think?”

It strikes me, then, what she is really saying. “You already booked your plane. You did that before I got here.”

“Don’t give me that look. I got everything in order for you in case you didn’t show up today for me to tell you.”

I do give her that look. And I don’t stop because the reality of her trying to leave for something better hits me fast and hard. In my heart of hearts I guess I always knew she didn’t plan on sticking around forever. I just hoped that she would. And I know all she’s doing right now is leaving for America to tour schools, but that’s just it. It’s all a precursor to her permanent departure.

“I have a few small jobs lined up for you in case you can’t sit still,” she says when I haven’t said anything in a while. “I don’t knew when I’ll be back, but once I buy the returning ticket I will text you.”

“Okay.” What else is there to say? It’s already done. Like, yeah, as her boss I could yell at her and tell her she’s a terrible employee for deciding this without telling me and that I will deduct her wages, but I’m not that kind of boss and she’s not that kind of employee.

She steps out from behind the counter and I see the two suitcases she’s dragging with her.

Well damn. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, I guess.

She pats my shoulder. “Try not to get thrown in prison.” And she’s gone.

****

Because I’ve been thrust into a reluctant holiday, I get home much earlier than anyone expected. That anyone being Penny and Basil, whom I find on my living room floor with pillows and blankets and more pancakes on plates scattered around.

“You are home early,” Basil says. It’s such an accusatory tone. From a man who doesn’t even _live here_.

“Sorry to disappoint you, _dear_ ,” I say with a sickly sweet smile.

“But for real,” Penny breaks in before he and I get into it, “what gives?”

“Agatha booked a trip to America so I guess I’m free." And then I add bitterly, "briefly." 

Penny looks surprised. “When is she coming back?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Typical.”

“What are you two doing?”

“Talking shit about you,” Basil says as Penny announces,

“Talking about feelings.”

That’s a conversation I am decidedly not up for. “I’m going to shower. Call me when you’re done.” Penny grins and waves at me while Basil looks like he had been hoping my arrival would save him. I decide not to subject him to too much torture, so I stop at the stairs and catch his eye. “I have a job involving vampires tonight. You can come if you want.”

He nods at once. “Sure. Yeah. Lovely.”

I give him a thumbs up and head to a much needed shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was curious, Baz and Agatha have their own stories that run parallel to Simon's. I might write certain scenes down to complement this fic. A thought.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's "Bring your Baz to work day." It does not go well.

It’s dark out by the time Basil and I leave my place. My shower didn’t take that long, for the record. My client, being a vampire and all that, prefers to do his business in the evening hours. It’s more comfortable for them, which was one of the first things I had learned about working with vampires. They can walk in the daylight, but it’s like your aunt stopping herself from talking about politics: it’s uncomfortable and they prefer otherwise.

Unless you’re Basil, apparently. He’s never seemed to have a problem with it. I don’t know if that’s because he’s aggressively denying his nature or if it really doesn’t bother him.

“Spit it out, Snow. You are making me uncomfortable.”

I divert my eyes to a young man across the street who is struggling to keep his Great Dane under control. “Am I that unnerving?”

“When you are trying not to ask questions, yes.”

“I was lost in thought.” I wasn’t meaning to stare, but I’ve recently become aware of my eyes’ wandering nature. Specifically where Basil is concerned. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk last night. I was much happier living in denial about my attraction to him.

“Find your way back, then, Snow.”

I blink at him. Find my way back? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it phrased quite like that before. “I like that.” Basil continues his eloquence with a non-committal grunt. “I was just thinking that you seem perfectly happy to walk around in daylight.”

He shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets. “As opposed to what?”

“I guess that’s my point. It’s obvious for you, but every vampire I’ve met prefers the evening hours.”

He hums and I can tell that not only is he pulling his words together, he’s also debating on whether he wants to tell me. It’s in the pinch of his brow and the sidelong glance he gives me. I want to smack him upside the head and tell him we danced to Lady Gaga for Merlin’s sake, but I don’t because that’s not a great way to get someone to talk to you.

The smacking bit, I mean. Lady Gaga brings all walks of life together.

“It is uncomfortable,” he finally admits and I try hard not to smile at the progress. It’s not that I _want_ to talk feelings, because I really don’t. But we’ve already discovered I’ve got a thing for him, and when a person has a thing for another person (or vampire in this case), the irrational desire to be the center of said person’s world takes over and is very difficult to fight.

(And okay, you figured out I had feelings before I did, but let’s just pretend for my sake that we came to that conclusion together.)

“Why make your life more difficult, then?”

“That’s not it,” he practically snaps. I don’t get defensive over his tone, though, because I can tell by the look in his eye that he spoke more harshly than he meant. I get the feeling he does that a lot. “I…” He runs a hand through his perfect hair and makes it somehow more perfect. The man is struggling with personal truths and all I can think about is how much I want to undo every part of his facade. Preferably with my mouth.

This is why I’m not a good boyfriend. I’m too selfish.

“Walking in daylight is all that I know,” he says at last. He gestures around us a bit lamely. “It sounds backwards, but to become nocturnal would go against my nature.”

“I think I get it.” And I do, when I focus on the conversation at hand and not…well, you know. “You’re always fighting yourself in some form or another.”

“Yes.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Yes.”

“When does it end?”

“The exhaustion?”

“The fight.”

“I…am not sure that it ever will.”

“Hm.” I don’t agree with that. It’s too doom and gloom for my taste. Life is hard and every day can be a struggle, and in no way would I ever downplay what Basil is going through, because he’s fighting some serious demons. That being said, he’s only barely scratched the surface of vampirism solely from his own experiences. I really feel like if he opens himself up to learning more about vampires _from other vampires_ , his fight will be easier.

This is half the reason why I invited him along on this little business trip. I did want to rescue him from Penny, but what I’m really trying to do is pique his interest. It’s only mildly diabolical. If I wanted to do worse, I would just throw him in with Agatha’s friends and let him fend for himself for a few hours.

We don’t talk the rest of the way. We strayed too close to a heart-to-heart conversation with no alcohol or DDR as a buffer and to be frank we’re both retreating. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable and I suck at emotions because at some point I just end up angry.

Just as we get to the bar where my client is waiting I put my hand out to stop him. He looks at me and I say, “Just to be clear, you never have to fight alone if you don’t want to. I thought you should know that.”

Because everyone should know that.

I certainly wish someone had told me sooner.

Then I put on my business hat and head in to see my client.

I hear Basil follow me a beat later. It’s dark and stuffy in here, but not from any cigarettes or the like. This is one of the few bars in town where you won’t see a single person smoking from an unspoken agreement rather than an outright ban. Naturally vampires get touchy where fire is concerned.

I head to the back room where Sherry is waiting for me. His name is actually Sherman, but through consistent business and my natural charm, I’m allowed to call him Sherry. I’m special like that.

“Simon Snow!” Sherry greets me with an enthusiastic smile. He’s in the middle of a card game and from the looks of his competition, it’s going well for him. He’s got what I call Girl Of The Week on his arm, but her phone has all of her attention. Sherry is pretty _eh_ as far as morality goes, but from what I’ve seen he treats his friends well and that’s good enough for me. In this business, decency can be hard to come by.

“How’s it going, Sherry?”

“Take a look.” He gives a grand gesture to the stack of money placed in front of Girl Of The Week. I get the impression that if someone tried to snatch anything, she would have them on the ground. “I had to clean house in preparation for your visit.”

I walk to his side and lean against the table to better see his hand. It’s terrible, but he’s putting up a good front. Basil keeps his distance. “You know you could save your money for something else.”

Sherry laughs. “And miss the chance to see your pretty face?”

I give a shove to his shoulder. “Shut up, you only want me for my magic.”

“And you need my money, you gold digger.”

We banter back and forth for a bit, as per usual. Sherry has always been transparent with what he uses my magic for and I appreciate that. I never have to go home wondering if I’ve made the right decision or not. He makes things easy, and I like him for it.

“So who’s your boy toy?”

“Hm?” I look up to see Basil, who already has a stick up his ass, stiffen considerably. “Oh, he’s just tagging along.” I wave him off.

“Well don’t just stand there in the dark, boy, come over here.” He flashes his sharp canines. “I won’t bite.”

“…” Basil isn’t necessarily glaring when he steps forward, but I can tell he’s not amused. “I won’t either,” he says, voice low.

Sherry gives a hearty laugh when the whole picture comes together. He slaps me on the back. “Getting a taste of the dark side, huh? If I’d known you had an interest in getting Turned, I would have offered to do it myself.”

“Still no interest, thanks. He’s my friend.”

“I’ve never seen you around, boy.” Sherry says to Basil. “I thought I had tabs on all the vampires in the area.”

“I make it a point not to come around here.”

I shoot Basil a warning glare. I turn to Sherry. “Excuse him. He only knows how to be rude. It’s a terminal condition.”

Girl Of The Week looks up from her phone and stares at Basil, then glances down at her phone, then back up again. “You’re a Pitch,” she says and I can’t tell what kind of emotion lies behind her words. It’s not hostile, but I’m not a fan of her announcing it to the world.

“Layla, that’s not a nice thing to call someone— _oh!_ ” Sherry gapes at Basil. “You said _Pitch_. With a P.”

“No,” I jump in, “I’m pretty sure you heard her right.” Basil shoots me a glare and I offer an apologetic smile. I’m trying to keep his presence on the down-low. I was comfortable bringing him along because most of the vampires here couldn’t put a face to one of the old families if their life depended on it. Basil being a vampire is no longer a secret, but that isn’t the issue. Here, it’s that he’s a Pitch.

The whole table is looking at Basil with varying degrees of the same icy stare. Sherry, though, looks delighted. “Oh ho! You’re the scandal of the Pitch family. I saw it in the papers. How far the mighty have fallen, am I right?”

 _Oh no…_ I put my hands up to cover my eyes. There is no possible way this will end well.

Basil doesn’t flinch. “My family did not fall. I suppose from where you are standing on the ground, it would seem that way, so I will forgive you your ignorance.”

Sherry stiffens, and when he speaks, it’s slow and enunciated. “What did you say to me?”

“Speak from experience or you look like a fool.”

Sherry stands up, his chair falling back.

“Okay!” I jump in. “We’re leaving now! Bringing him here was clearly my bad!” I edge to Basil’s side, making sure that I’m standing between him and the others who all look thrilled at the idea of ripping out his throat.

Sherry points at Basil. “One day there will be no family name left to hide behind. It may take centuries, but when that day comes and you are the last Pitch to ever exist, I will find you.” His threat lingers in the air for a suffocating amount of seconds before he lowers his finger and looks at me. “I will reschedule our business. It’s best you leave now.”

“Absolutely. And again, I am so sorry about all of this.”

“Surround yourself with better company,” Sherry says.

“I’ll bring Agatha next time.” I wave goodbye and if it’s a little frantic, can you blame me? (The answer is no.) I shove Basil out of the bar and he lets me. I don’t stop to catch my breath until we are a block over.

“Well that was a stupid idea,” I say as I lean against the wall. I expect Basil to snap at me for putting him in that situation, but when I look over at him his eyes are fixed on the empty intersection. The traffic signal turns from red to green and in the better light I can see that he is shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, long break. How goes it? My life went from 'eh' to upside down. I live in a new place with a new job now, hence the lack of update.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz needs therapy

I reach out and gently put my hand on his arm. He flinches away from me. “Basil?” He glares at me but doesn’t say anything. There’s a war going on in his expression and I have no clue what he’s thinking. Chances are he’s mad at me, but he’s not hurling insults to prove my hunch.

Then his expression goes through a disturbing journey from angry to sad to something that is maniacal and in between. He starts _laughing_.

I think I broke him.

“Basil?”

He laughs until he’s hunching over and holding his stomach, the sound reverberating around us. At some point his amusement fizzles out, but he’s still chuckling, and when he finally stops (and has thoroughly weirded me out) he wipes a single tear from his eye.

“You need therapy,” I say when he straightens.

He looks rueful. “You think?”

“Are you…okay?”

“I think I just went through the stages of grief.” His tone is matter-of-fact, like an impartial narrator of the train wreck that is his life. He takes a deep breath and straightens the wrinkles in his clothes. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch. He’s putting himself back together. “Sorry about ruining your business.”

I slap my palm to my forehead. “Oh my _god_ can you stop trying to act _normal?_ ” He looks at me uncomfortably. I gesture emphatically at him. “I just watched you have a year’s worth of breakdowns in _five seconds._ And all you have to say is ‘sorry about your business, mate, I’m going through some stuff’?!”

“My voice is not that high. And I don’t have a cockney accent.”

I fold my arms. He’s being stubborn on purpose and I am not gracing him with an answer.

“Okay, what? _What?_ ” He asks, exasperated. “What do you want me to say, Snow? Do you want me to pour out my deepest, darkest feelings on you? Do you want to hold me while I weep? Do you want to become my fucking therapist?”

“No,” I snap, bristling at his tone. What I want is for him to stop yelling at me.

“Then please, tell me where I need to go from here. Be my guiding light, give me the answers to how I am supposed to handle this situation.” His sarcasm is nearly hysterical and this is _exactly_ why he needs help, but I am so fucking not equipped to handle that.

“I don’t know!” I yell, fists clenched. I can feel heat beginning at my feet. “I don’t fucking know!”

He nods emphatically with a broad sweep of his hand, like I am finally getting where he’s coming from.

Oh.

I guess I am.

There’s no rule book for trauma. Spilling his guts isn’t going to magically make him okay. Asking for help isn’t going to suddenly provide all of the answers. A timeline isn’t going to pop above his head and tell the world how long it will take for him to ‘get over it.’ This, all of this, is his life now. Maybe one day he’ll wake up and it will all be okay, but most likely he won’t. Most likely he’ll deal with this in varying degrees for the rest of his life.

And he’s a vampire.

So unless he gets staked or set on fire...this really could be forever.

The frenetic look in his eyes dies away and now he looks tired. “Look, I am sorry for yelling at you. I know that makes you anxious.”

“It’s fine,” I mumble, hands limp at my sides and the wind chilly on my neck. “I guess I just…I don’t know, I feel really bad for what happened in there.”

“You tried to diffuse the situation. None of that was your fault.”

“I mean, yeah, I know. You could have been less of an arse, but I should’ve seen that coming.”

“Okay, fuck you,” he says with barely any bite. “Only you would get along with someone like Sherry.” He says the name like a curse. Which I guess it kind of is considering Sherry basically threatened to haunt Basil’s arse until the end of time.

“He’s not the greatest man on earth, no. But he’s always been nice to me, and in my life that’s hard to come by.” I pause. “Hm. That sounded more angsty than I intended. What I mean is that in the magical world I’m not very well liked, and in the underground it’s a dog-eat-dog world.”

Sherry isn’t some kind of household name that serves as the monster in children’s bedtime stories. He doesn’t have a vast network of connections that gives him access to the black market or assassins. He’s just…a normal, not terribly upstanding vampire that does his own thing. Basil will probably never understand it, but really, truly, Sherry is far from being one of the grossest people I’ve met.

“Sure,” he sighs, dropping the subject. “I am sure Bunce will get a kick out of tonight.”

“You don’t plan on going back to your place, do you?” My question slips out without meaning to. It’s something I’ve been biting my tongue about because, as we all can see why, I didn’t want to upset him.

“I was wondering when you would ask,” he says dryly. He leans against the wall and folds his arms.

I don’t know how to word this tenderly so I don’t try. Basil looks too exhausted to lose his mind again. “Is it because you Turned the Mage or because of what he’d said about your mum?”

“About her wanting me dead?” I nod. “Walk with me.” He leads the way down a random side street and I follow him. Neither of us has a destination in mind, but that’s fine. He takes the time to gather his thoughts and I pretend to be patient about it. When he does speak, his tone isn’t as heavy as I expected it to be. “I actually already knew about it.”

“…what?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t look at me, just stares ahead. “Fiona took over raising me for a while after I was Turned. Mum…she did not handle the whole thing well. A pioneer for legislature against vampires who now had a vampire son. She blamed herself for it, not that she ever told me. A lot of this was kept behind closed doors.” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile I recognize. It’s unamused and mostly sad. “They had yet to take into account that I could hear a lot more than I used to.”

“So then you heard her ask the Mage to…” the sentence dies away.

“She and Fiona talked about it a lot. Mum thought it would be kinder for me if I had died like I was supposed to. Fiona waffled back and forth, but ultimately became fine with the new me. I was not around when the official bargain was made with the Mage. To be honest I am not completely certain that it happened. I am more of the mind that she had said something in passing to him and he ran with it.” He shrugs. “Not that it matters, really. Ultimately it was that she had those thoughts at all that I struggled with.”

I shake my head. “I can’t even imagine living with her after that.”

“It was hard, believe me, but eventually I did confront her about it. That was a…formative moment in our relationship. It got worse before it got better.” He looks at me now and I don’t know what he sees on my face. Probably some level of shock. “I worked through it a long time ago. It was tasteless of the Mage to think it would be his trump card.”

“I told Fiona what he had said. She thinks you don’t know it’s true.” Saying it out loud takes a lot of weight off of my shoulders. I really thought I was holding a life-altering secret. And it was, but a long time ago. Basil is skimming over a lot of the details, but honestly it’s not my business.

“Does she?” He seems surprised. “I guess mum never told her. I know I never talked about it once mum and I talked. I wanted to forget all about it. I guess she felt the same.”

“You should tell Fiona. She feels really guilty.”

“When I go home, I will.”

“So, then, if that’s not the reason you’re avoiding your family, what is?”

“The simple explanation? Being in that house is really hard without her.”

I almost don’t want to ask, but we’ve come this far, haven’t we? “And the not so simple explanation?”

“I don’t feel guilty about what I did to the Mage, and I am not a fan of the kind of person I am becoming because of that.”

Becoming. Present tense.

“Okay.” We take a turn and end up back where we had started. “I won’t pry. It’s already been a hell of a night. Let’s head back to my place.”

Basil looks visibly relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello inconsistent update schedule! I would apologize, but you get this chapter much faster than the last one. I have a lot of feelings about Baz in this one. It was hard not to change POVs just to get his perspective because there's a lot going on under (and above, let's be honest) the surface


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz avoids his problems for long enough and Simon gains new ones

So Basil has successfully been avoiding his problems for another week at my place. Penny is convinced he’s moved in. I’m convinced I need to start charging rent or something. He’s rich. He can afford it. And if he can’t, then he can go back home like he was supposed to _two weeks ago_.

And look, I don’t hate having him here. I’ve got a barf-worthy crush on him so by all accounts it’s a dream come true.

But listen.

_Listen._

There is a man in my home that I now have wet dreams about. It’s kind of creepy, I know, because he hasn’t got a clue. And that’s just it! He’s here! Within my grasp! And _I can’t do anything about it._

How would it look on my end if I were to say something? Follow me here, for a second. Indulge me:

_‘Yes, Basil, you can stay at my place for as long as you need. You went through some major trauma and you need a safe place to recover. I get it. Let me be that for you.’_

_‘Thank you, Simon, how wonderfully kind of you. It feels like I’ve been through 15 chapters of pain. I would love to have a rest. Lovely sofa, by the way. And your ability to host is impeccable. I feel very special.’_

_‘Funny you mention that. You are very special to me. So much so that not only do I want to be nauseatingly domestic with you, I also want to do so many filthy things that if you ever gave me the chance, I would probably freeze and never make a decision.’_

_‘Ah—’_

_‘No need to say anything! You’re busy healing. In the meantime, I will jerk off to you in my bedroom every night. Anyway, make yourself at home. Let me know if you need anything, anything at all.’_

End scene.

Yes I am well aware that I dipped into the realm of hyperbole, but let’s not pretend that is not essentially how that conversation would go. So I need this man out of my home so that he can heal to a point where it is acceptable for me to ask him out. Because my _god_ do I want to take him on a date.

That should say a lot about his charm. He is an absolute wreck right now. He’s barely functioning and snippy and depressed, and somehow, some way, I still find him endearing. I still enjoy spending time with him. Now imagine how much his charms will increase when he is fully functioning and not majorly depressed? I won’t stand a chance. Boom. Gone. Decimated.

In this I know I am not exaggerating because I’ve _seen_ his real smile. I’ve seen him let loose and laugh and be funny and witty and _warm_. It was the briefest glimpse. I’ve almost convinced myself it was a fluke, but I know it’s not. When we danced together I immediately knew what the real Baz (there, I said it. Are we all happy now?) is supposed to be like. He’s in there, and I will do anything to see it.

Anything being this:

“Alright, that’s it,” I say as I storm into his room and rip off the mound of blankets he’s buried himself under. He’s got an iron grip on the sheet, so I don’t bother with that otherwise he’ll rip it. “Enough moping.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t make me.”

I stare at him. “Really? You’re going to act like a child?” He doesn’t answer me and for a second I’m at a loss. I knew he would fight me, that’s not the surprise. It’s just that he’s right. I _can’t_ make him do anything. Not if he’s going to be an arse and use his vampiric strength against me.

Same plan, new tactic.

With a weary sigh I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed where his head is buried beneath all the decorative pillows in the house. Two things occur to me then: first, I did not realize I had so many pillows. Second, I never noticed that Baz was squirreling them away like a thief in the night. He even had the audacity to steal one of the extra pillows from my bedroom.

(Let’s ignore all the fluttery feelings this thought causes for a moment and focus on the fact that I have been looking for that!)

“The world isn’t going to disappear no matter how long you wait.”

“Are you sure? I can wait a long time, Snow.”

“You can,” I say with slight emphasis on ‘you’. “But I can’t. I’m not going to let you waste away. When was the last time you dealt with the blood situation?”

The smallest snort. “I hate that you call it that.”

“Well?”

He squirms a bit. “A while.”

“I know I offered my blood, and I’m not taking it back, but the last thing I need is for you to snap and have a Simon buffet while I’m sleeping.” It’s a risky thing to say considering how touchy he is on the subject. I hope he understands that I mean well when I say it. I’m not trying to make a tasteless joke. I’m worried about him.

He tosses the sheet back to give me a proper glare.

So he took it the wrong way.

“I won’t apologize,” I say. “Unless it will make you get up. In which case I will do and say anything to make that happen.”

There’s something in his expression when he asks, “anything?”

“Anything.”

He only hums, but doesn’t elaborate. This is supposed to be where he offers up an idea and I jump on it eagerly. He doesn’t. He just pulls the sheet back over his face. I sigh again. Without thinking I reach over and run my fingers through the hair peeking out from under the blanket and pillows. It’s soft.

“I’m really worried about you, you know,” I murmur. “I don’t know what to do.”

Baz doesn’t say anything for a while. I really don’t expect him to, but he does and his words are as soft as mine. “I keep waiting to feel guilty for Turning the Mage, or to stop missing Mum as much, or to…to stop…hating what I am.” He whispers the last part so quietly that it takes a few seconds for me to understand the words.

I adjust the way I’m seated so that his head is no longer buried in the pillows but instead resting in my lap. I continue to stroke his hair, remembering that I had promised myself I would do this for him one day: that I would show him what it is like to be cared for. He is facing away from me so I can only see part of his expression. “You’re waiting on a lot,” I say. “So what happens if nothing happens?”

“It will,” he says stubbornly.

I blink. “One day you’ll stop missing your mum?”

A pause. “No.”

“Do you want to stop missing her?”

He doesn’t say anything, but I know the struggle. The instinct is to say _yes_. Yes, because then the pain will go away and life will get easier. On the other hand, to say no would be akin to a betrayal for the love he held for her. I can only pinpoint this feeling because it’s not so different from my own, and I never knew my mother. I imagine everything I feel is magnified for him because he knew his. To say no would mean that all the memories he has of her would be meaningless.

“I know you’re waiting for it to get easier,” I say at last. “Hiding here isn’t going to make that happen any faster. It’s only going to make you feel worse.”

He turns so that he’s on his back and is able to look at me. “It always surprises me when you sound older than you are,” he says with the faintest of smiles.

“I’m just speaking from experience. I’m not the only one who has had to deal with something like this.”

“No. I forget that life has not been kind to you. You make it seem so easy.”

“What? Grief?”

“Life,” he says simply.

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone utter anything close to those words. I find it hard to believe that I make life seem easy. It has slapped me in the face more than I like. “Basil your life isn’t over. Yes you’re a vampire, but you’re only in your twenties. If you want things to get better, even marginally, then you need to get up and face what you’ve been avoiding.” I tug at a lock of hair. “Come on. Pull yourself together, Pitch.”

He looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “You are a more patient host than I would have guessed.”

His comment is not so far off from my little scenario earlier. I bite the inside of my lip to stop myself from saying what I shouldn’t. “You’re not the worst free-loader I’ve had.”

“Do you often take in strays?”

“Only if they’re cute —” My jaw audibly clamps shut. He stares at me. I stare at him. “Uh. That’s.” My face reddens and this time, for real, I feel steam escape from my skin. “I mean —”

Baz reaches up and places a cool palm to my face, his expression bemused. He’s perfectly content to watch me flounder and I have to decide whether I want to let him have the satisfaction or not. I absolutely do not.

So the only thing to do is own it, I guess. “You sang me to sleep and danced with me. This can’t come as a shock.”

“No,” he agrees easily, voice soft. “I was waiting for you to take it back.”

“Yeah, well.” I don’t tell him I thought about it. “I just implied you’re not supposed to have any regrets. I’m not about to be a hypocrite.”

He still hasn’t removed his hand from my face.

He’s staring at me. With his _palm._ _Cupping **my. Face**_.

I want to kiss him.

I think he wants to kiss me. He’s staring at my mouth.

I’m leaning down.

Penny walks in the room.

Penny walks in the—

“Oh man, I’m sorry.” She sounds like she means it. If she does, then she should leave. Can I still kiss him? If she walks away now I probably could. But she doesn’t walk away. Not even when I glare at her and Baz’s hand falls away. Can I put it back on my cheek? It felt really nice. “Baz, your aunt is here.”

The world hates me.

Life sucks and the world hates me.

“She’s coming to drag you back,” Penny says as if she hasn’t already killed the mood with a hatchet and burned the pieces.

“Okay.” Baz looks disappointed. I really hope that’s because he knows we could be kissing right now and not because of family trouble. With a final, lingering look, Baz pushes himself up and out of bed, the last of the pillows falling to the floor and the sheet gathering at the foot of the bed. He scratches the back of his head as he excuses himself and goes to greet his aunt.

Penny is giving me an apologetic look.

“You couldn’t have waited five minutes?”

“I didn’t know you needed five minutes.”

I grumble and lean back against the headboard. It’s all I can do, really.

****

Baz ends up going home with Fiona. I guess my pep talk worked. I wish it hadn’t — or at least not yet. The timing all around could’ve been better. It wasn’t, so I guess it’s my turn to sulk. Penny left shortly after being the worst wing-woman ever, so I’m left to my own devices which includes wandering my home like a wraith, restless and wanting. I had every intention of spending my day this way, but a knock at the door interrupts me.

Considering my friend group is tiny and all participants of said group are busy, I’m at a loss as to who it could be. I kind of want it to be a salesman. I need the pleasure of being more annoying than the most annoying people on earth.

When I open the door, I find that my guest is much worse than a salesman. “Oh.” I blink. “Um. Hello.” It’s a…quaint thing to say to the Mage. It’s not at all appropriate considering I left him in his own pool of blood without magic. I’ve still got kissing Baz on the brain. I’m not at my best, okay?

“Hello.” His greeting is cold and sarcastic. He looks hungry. Has he been starving himself this entire time? I should be on my guard but I’m not. The Mage doesn’t seem…murderous, I guess. If anything he looks desperate.

We stare at each other. I can tell he’s waiting for me to react beyond social nicety, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how I feel when I look at him. Disgust or anger should be at the top of the list. I guess guilt for taking his magic, but I’ve worked past that. Maybe some kind of righteousness for the sake of what he did to Baz and his family. All of these would be appropriate, but I think…

I think all I feel is pity.

He used to be so powerful and now he’s not.

He’s nothing.

“Do you want to come in?” I say at last, opening the door a little wider. “I guess technically you don’t need an invitation. If you wanted to, you could just kick the door in.” This last is more me musing than anything else.

The Mage stares at me, starving and desperate and confused. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of how I used to look. Although I had been starving for food, not for blood. “Why?” He asks, voice full of suspicion.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I assume you came here to talk. Would you rather do it outside?” His eyes dart past my shoulder, judging if I’m setting him up to be ambushed or something. “He’s not here.” The Mage’s eyes dart back to mine. “Basil, I mean. He’s gone home.” The tightness in the Mage’s expression clears a bit.

Ah.

He’s afraid of Baz.

A bit late for that, but at least now he’s being smart.

“But he will be back.” I find it interesting how certainly the Mage says it. As far as he knows, we were in business together for one night.

“Probably, yeah. But not for a while.”

The Mage considers this and then lifts his chin. “Then I would like to take you up on your offer.” He says it with all the dignity and haughtiness he can muster. It’s like watching a declawed cat act bold. I can’t even take offense. The Mage has vampiric strength and prowess but it is abundantly clear to me that not only has he never used it intentionally, he’s completely rejected it.

“Kitchen’s this way.” I turn my back on him and he follows after shutting the front door with significant care. I grin. _Destroy a few doors much?_ I lead him into the kitchen and begin preparing tea while he sits at my mother’s old table. I hear, rather than see, how gingerly he moves about the place. He’s trying not to break anything, not to move so fast. I would almost thank him for the courtesy he is showing my home, but I know he’s doing it for his own benefit. He’s trying not to be anything unnatural, to trick himself into believing he’s still human.

I pour tea into the old china cups and set his down in front of him before taking my seat. He grimaces down at the cup, looking both revolted and disappointed. “Do you not drink tea? Basil’s never had a problem with it.”

“It’s not what I need right now,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I don’t keep blood bags in my fridge.” He shoots me a glare, but I shrug it off. I’m used to the same look from Baz. “Best I can offer you is water. I’m not a butcher.”

He pushes the cup towards me. “Keep it.”

I shrug and pour it back in the kettle. “So why are you here?” He watches me put enough sugar in my tea to shock a small child. “I know you didn’t confuse me for a blood bank.”

“Did you just put _butter_ in your tea?” He sounds outraged. To be fair, he’s not the only one. It does offend every Englishman whose seen me do it.

“I don’t question your drinking habits.” I let him splutter at me while I drink and let out a pointed sigh. “It adds depth” — I hold out my cup— “would you like to try?”

He recoils as if he’s been burned. “Absolutely _not!_ ”

I shrug and take another sip. “More for me.” He watches me with something like morbid fascination, which is kind of annoying because I know drinking tea with a bit of butter is _not_ more weird or gross than drinking blood. Sorry, but it’s true. “So what do you want?” I ask with more bite to my tone.

The Mage looks from my cup to my face. “I wanted to meet you.”

“We’ve met before.”

His mouth quirks up without humor. “Under better circumstances.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Why?”

“You took my magic.”

“I did.” He cocks his head to the side. It’s almost scientific, the way he’s looking at me. The people who confront me over my thieving ways, and it happens more often than I like, aren’t calculating. They’re mad. Murderous even. I stole a fundamental part of them, so I get it. The Mage’s approach to the situation? I don’t get it. I don’t like it, either. I remain quiet and wait for him to lead the conversation.

“How is it?”

That’s unexpected. “What?”

“My magic,” he clarifies. “How is it?”

I have to think about how to answer his question. Why does he want to know? What good does it do to know if I like having his magic or not? “Temperamental.” He nods, inviting me to elaborate. “It doesn’t always like to do what it’s told. The apple doesn’t fall far, if you ask me.” This last bit I add just because he’s making me uncomfortable and I hate that. Instead of being contrite, the Mage just laughs.

“I never thought I would have my magic explained to me. And to think it has a will of its own!”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” I put more butter in my tea just to dampen his enthusiasm. It works. “I can control it just fine.”

“What else have you noticed?”

“That you still haven’t gotten to the point.” I lean back in my chair and fold my arms. “Let me be frank: I let you into my home because when I saw you, I didn’t know what to think. My reaction, good or bad, could’ve gone either way.” I give him a hard stare. “The more you stall, the more I’m making up my mind.” It’s a very similar thing to what Baz said to him before. The effect is instant. He sobers and straightens in his seat. “Now. Why are you here?”

He drums his fingers against the tabletop. It’s an anxious gesture, but what catches my eye is that he’s not moving naturally. Still careful. Still scared of himself. “It’s not an easy thing to discuss.”

“I think you’ll manage.” I think about how easy it is for him to make people scared and nervous, but when the shoe is on the other foot, suddenly he needs a gentle hand? No. I don’t have the time or desire to coddle him.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. When he does, he looks at me and I can see that he’s steeled himself for whichever direction this is about to take. “Okay. First, I would like to ask you” — he raises a finger to stop me — “it’s relevant to the conversation.” He waits. I nod. “I would like to ask you: how long have you been able to take and give magic?”

“My whole life, I guess. I figured it out when I was little.”

“Is it difficult?”

I heave a sigh, patience gone. “Why does it matter? Are you trying to learn how to do this yourself? Because you can’t. I’ll save you the trouble. Is this a roundabout way of asking if I can give it back? The short answer is yes, the long answer is hell no, I’m not helping you.”

He does not like that answer. He looks every bit the starving vampire that he is, and I watch as he takes a long minute to school his expression. For being newly undead and all that, I do have to give credit where it’s due. His self-control is impeccable.

“I asked,” he says tightly, “because I am the reason that you can take magic to begin with.”

I shake my head as if to clear it of cobwebs. “I’m sorry, what?” Is this his new angle? He’s going to make me think…what? That I owe him? That I should thank him for what I can do?

Let’s entertain this hypothetical for a second (since we’re doing that today) and say that he was responsible. Am I supposed to be thankful? Yes it did help get me out of a bad place, but at the end of the day, most of my success came from my own merit. Running a business, staying out of reach of the law ( _that he sent after me_ ), is no easy thing.

Taking magic does not — sorry in advance — magically make things easier. And to follow this line of thinking further, if he’s responsible for what I can do, then he has had access to me at some point during my early childhood. In other words he could have _helped_ me instead of letting me rot in an orphanage. There is so much wrong with this picture it’s making my head spin.

“You’ve got a funny way of going about things. Is this supposed to make me want to help you?”

“You have made it clear nothing I say will do that.” He has the nerve to sound put-out.

I throw my hands up. “I don’t know what you’re looking for. You keep dancing around the question.”

“I told you —”

“No, you haven’t told me anything. You’re being cryptic and spouting nonsense.“

“It’s not nonsense — “

“Yes it is! You just said you are the reason I can take magic!”

“That’s because I am. If you would just listen —”

“Bullshit.”

The Mage slams his hand down. The teacups jump and clatter against the wood, spilling into the fissure he made in the table. “ _I wanted to meet my son!”_

I stare at him, unable to breathe. There’s a burning in my throat, which doesn’t make any sense because this is all stupid and he’s manipulating me so none of this matters. It’s all a lie. I stand and pick up the china and begin mopping up the mess. “Get out.” I don’t look at him.

“Simon —”

When I hear him say my name, gentle and familiar, something inside me snaps. I whip around. “ _Go Away!_ ”

He does. Between one burning second and the next, he’s gone. I don’t know where I magicked him. Wherever it is, it’s not far enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering how I intend to wrap up this story in 5 chapters, the answer is I have no idea! I just always thought 20 was a good length for this fic, so sit back and enjoy much longer chapters while I scream at myself!
> 
> Edit: For those returning, yes I did move this note to the bottom because it didn't match the rest of the chapters and that bugged me lol. I'd love to hear from you guys! If you haven't noticed by now, long stuff is difficult for me so I could use a little extra love thrown my way while I crank out the rest of this fic!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon wrestles with the Mage's words. Penny is a great friend. Baz has too many pillows.

I don’t think. I just lock the door on the way out. It’s drizzling a bit, but when is it not? I pull my hoodie over my head and just walk. I don’t allow my mind to do what it wants to, which is to turn over the Mage’s words until they make sense. I won’t let myself waste any time on something so ridiculous. I don’t know what his goal was, but it failed. Simple as that.

My feet end up carrying me to Penny’s flat. Before she left my place she said she had plans or errands or something. I hope she answers, but if she doesn’t, I’m fully prepared to sit here until she returns. I don’t want to be alone right now. And I know it’s stupid, because feeling this way inherently means the Mage’s words got under my skin. Penny will make me feel better. It’s not that I need to see reason; I need to believe it, and I know she’ll help me with that.

I knock on her door. No answer. With a shrug, I lean back against the door and allow my legs to slide out from beneath me. I pull out my phone and give Agatha a call. I figure she’s been in America long enough to decide if she wants to stay or not.

“Simon? Do you know what time it is?”

“Lunchtime?”

“It’s 4am. What do you need at 4am?”

“Okay, but it’s lunchtime over here. I think the real question is why _you_ are awake at 4am.”

“I was doing stuff.”

“Is she nice?”

“Goodbye, Simon.”

“Wait!”

The call disconnects. I let out a breath between a laugh and a sigh. I should’ve seen that coming. Teasing her _before_ asking a question is never good. Now after? That’s fair game.

I toss my phone between my hands. I guess I only have one person left to call. Because sitting alone with my thoughts is not an option right now. If this doesn’t work, I have every intention of calling Penny and demanding she come spend time with me. If I have to, I’ll even bribe her with the details of the almost-kiss.

So, without further ado, I call Baz. And if you’re wondering how I got his number, it’s because Penny stole his phone, programmed my number into it, then texted me from said phone without his knowledge. If you want to know why I know that and never stopped her, it’s because she only told me this after the fact. She was very proud of herself.

(I was proud, too.)

“Why do I have your number, Snow?”

I huff and roll my eyes. “Does nobody answer with ‘hello’ anymore? Yeesh.”

“Hello, why do I have your number?”

I bite my lip to stop my smile from growing. “Because you danced with me and sang me to sleep.”

“Oh? I had not realized that was some kind of life sentence.” He’s smiling, too. I can hear it in his voice.

“It was in the contract when you hired me. Didn’t you read it?”

“My lawyer may have neglected to tell me about that particular clause.”

“Because he knew the chances of you dancing were slim to none?”

“Yes, actually. Nobody would have been able to predict how tempting you can be.”

Oh my Jesus Merlin. Are we openly flirting right now? Like, it’s not even subtle at this point and this is exactly what I needed and also I guess this means he’s into me too, which is crazy but really awesome and did he solve his issues with his family so I can ask him out now? As I’m about to open my mouth and ask that very question, he speaks before I do.

“Actually, Bunce gave me your number, didn’t she?”

“And she gave me yours. All of this without any coaxing on my part.”

“Hm.” He hums. He’s not upset. “Then what can I do for you?”

“More like there’s something you can do for me.” He doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to continue. “I got some…I don’t know what to call it. Bad news, I guess? Or, news isn’t the word, but like it’s been a bad time over here and I could use a distraction.”

“I am afraid my house is lacking a DDR machine.”

“You’re telling me that a mansion that size doesn’t have a game room?”

“Does billiards count?” I shudder and it’s almost like he sees me because he says, “I know. Dull, right?”

“More like too on the nose. Rich family has gothic mansion and their version of fun is fucking billiards.”

“There is no fucking in billiards. But I see your point.”

“Tyrannus Basilton Pitch—”

“Grimm-Pitch.”

“Whatever. Did you just make a joke?”

“You needed a distraction. I obliged.”

“Consider me distracted. Thank you.” He doesn’t say anything else and I don’t either. The silence should be awkward, but it’s not. It kind of feels like he’s sitting with me, enjoying my company as much as I am his. He really does sound happy. Ignoring the fact that I want to attribute his good mood to my call, I think whatever he is doing at home is helping him. Enough to ask him out? Let’s see—

“I am not sure what ‘a bad time’ means for you,” Baz says again before I can open my mouth. He speaks carefully, like he’s not sure of the best way to handle the situation. Boy do I get it. “I can only imagine. If you want to come over, you are welcome. To be honest, I am still not the best company, but we can be miserable together.”

It says a lot about me that I am honestly touched by his offer. Like my heart physically tightens from his words. I like the idea of being miserable together. I really, really do. “Um, yeah—”

“Simon?” I see Penny’s hair before I see her. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re home early.” I’m trying to figure out if that came out more accusing than I meant while Baz is already speaking.

“Is that Bunce?” Did he mean to sound disappointed or am I reading into it? “Okay. I will let you go, then.” Definitely disappointed.

Dammit, Penny.

“What?” She looks offended.

Oh. That was not my indoor voice. I said that out loud. “No, that’s not—”

“Goodbye, Snow.” He disconnects the call.

“Ugh.” I massage my forehead. “Timing is not on my side today.”

“Do I even want you to come in?”

I stand and move aside so she can unlock the door. “Yes, please. I’m sorry, I’m really not mad at you or anything.”

“Then don’t ‘dammit, Penny’ me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Once she unlocks the door, she looks me up and down. She’s reading the misery wafting off me, and we both know it was on me before she walked up. She doesn’t say anything, just leaves the door open for me to follow. I shut it behind myself before making myself comfortable on her floor. She has this vibrantly maroon fur rug that is super soft and comfy. I lie back and stare at the popcorn ceiling while she messes around in the kitchen. She makes tea for us and toast with jam and butter.

She’s upside down when she walks into view. I watch as she sets our snacks on the low coffee table. She sits down next to me. “Okay. I’m ready. What did I miss in the short time I was gone?”

“Too much.”

“Start with after I left.”

“The Mage came over.” She gasps and I nod. “Yeah. It went about as well as you would expect.”

Her eyes scan my throat. “Did he…?”

“No. He was…I don’t want to say pleasant, because that’s giving him way too much credit.” I run my fingers through my hair a few times. “He wasn’t bitey, I guess. I mean. Definitely hungry. But he kept together.”

She pours tea in both of our cups. “Then what did he want if not to eat you?”

I grin at her. “So you agree that I seem delicious? Like, a vampire would be crazy to _not_ want to drink my blood?”

“If this is a kink thing between you and Baz, I am not answering that.” I frown at her and she wrinkles her nose. “Ew, Simon. I’m happy for you, but I never asked for details.”

“I never gave you any.” That would imply that there were details to give. It’s all very frustrating. Especially considering how many times I’ve been thwarted in asking Baz out. It’s probably a sign from the universe that now is not the time. I shake off the thought. None of that is relevant right now. “Anyway, the Mage said he wanted to meet me.”

She gives me a confused look.

“That was my reaction. Then he wanted to know about my magic taking ability, and how his magic compared to others’ I’ve taken before.”

“That’s oddly arrogant.”

“That was also my reaction. And after dancing around the point a bit, well…” I bite my lip. How do I say this without giving it any weight? How do I say this and make it so that the words mean _less?_ Honestly it makes me mad that the Mage put me in this position. He is _so good_ at manipulating people, at finding what makes them tick. I don’t know how he found mine. I don’t know if he’s been keeping tabs on me for years or if he recently started spying on me. Whatever he did, he hit the nail on the head. He found the one thing that would keep me awake at night, that would make me toss and turn, unable to make the words into anything other than what they are: a bitter and ugly desire for them to be truth.

I don’t want the Mage to be my father. I don’t want to have any relation to him.

But I do want a father.

I want a father like I want a mother.

I’m just… _so tired_ of being alone.

In one conversation he’s managed to poison the very thing I want, but not so much that it’s undesirable.

Penny pats my hair. “Simon?”

_Simon._

The way she says it and the way he said it are very different. Penny knows me. Penny says it with the weight of all the years we’ve been friends, of all the years she’s held me while I cried and vice versa.

He says it with the hope to know me. With the hope that I’ll choose not to be alone. Or maybe hope isn’t the right word. That’s giving him too much credit again. There’s no way he has that kind of emotional investment in me. No. He’s doing it with the knowledge that I would give anything to not be Simon Snow, one of a kind without a history to live by. He says my name with full confidence in a decision I haven’t made yet.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. When I do, the pressure behind my eyes releases as well. I hadn’t realized. I wipe at my face. “Fuck. He said that he's my dad.”

Penny stares down at me with furrowed brows. My words don’t hit her as hard. It’s not that she doesn’t understand what I said, it’s that she doesn’t understand why I believe it. I’ve said it myself, the Mage is a manipulator. A liar. Why in the world does this matter so much?

Because I want it to.

“Does he have proof?” She speaks slowly, trying not to upset me further. She’s trying to get me to see without forcing the answer on me.

“Of course he doesn’t. All he has is his word, which we all know is meaningless.”

Penny nods. “Yes.”

I rake my hand through my hair. “I just need you to tell me I’m being stupid and that there is no reason on this earth why I should believe him.”

“I can tell you that if you want. I just don’t know if that’s going to help you.” I groan and she studies me. “You are really bothered by this. I don’t know if that’s because you do believe him or you want to.”

“No judgement?”

“None.”

“It’s both.” I stare up at the ceiling without really seeing each bump and divot. “I’ve always thought about what it would be like to meet my mum. It’s never occurred to me to search for my dad, or to even entertain the idea that he might be alive.”

“Now the Mage has given you that option.”

“Yeah.”

“You said both…does that mean you want the Mage to be your dad?”

“Not exactly. I just want my search to be that easy.”

“Oh Simon,” she says with a sigh. Oh Simon, indeed. “What he said to you, regardless of anything, was really cruel. There was no point in telling you this, even if it is true. He only wants you to help dig him out of a hole he dug for himself.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t let him do that to you.” She speaks quietly, but fiercely. She grabs my hand and squeezes. “He’s already hurt you. Don’t give him another thought, another chance to keep hurting you.”

I nod. Easier said than done.

****

It’s three in the morning and I’m still at Penny’s. She went to bed a while ago after spending the evening with me eating and watching bad television. She did make me feel better. In the moment, at least. Now I’m alone again and I don’t want to be. I contemplate calling Agatha again and having a real conversation, but before I make a decision my phone rings. It’s Baz.

“Oh,” I say when I put the phone to my ear. “What are you doing up?”

Baz heaves a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Does no one say ‘hello’ anymore?”

If a smile can spread throughout a person’s entire body, mine does. “Hello, what are you doing up?” What I really want to say is _thank you_.

“I was thinking about you.”

My heart trips a few beats. “Yeah?”

“I feel like I could have helped you better today.” I hear shuffling on the other line and I picture him messing with one of dozens of pillows. “My offer was, uh, less than stellar. Of course you wouldn’t want to be miserable with me.”

I frown. “Of course I do.”

“I know. Nobody calls to be mis—I’m sorry, what?”

There it is. My favorite word, and just as confused as ever. “Why wouldn’t I want to be miserable with you?” I say instead. “It’s better than being miserable alone.”

“Oh.” He’s quiet for a minute. “Are you alone right now?”

Technically, no. I’m with Penny. If I really needed to, I could walk over and wake her up. She would be a good sport about it and once I felt better, she would give me shit for waking her up, because that’s what friends do. I could tell him all of this, but I know what I really want. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yes.”

I nod and close my eyes. “Are you still at home?’

“Yeah. Everyone has gone to sleep.”

“Are you in your bed?”

“What?”

I bite my lip, but can’t stop my smile. “Are you in your bed?”

“Are we doing that now? That is…not what I had in mind when I called.”

A startled laugh escapes me, my eyes shooting open. “Oh my god, you horny slut.”

_“What?”_

I think the best part is he doesn’t even sound offended. Surprised, sure. Confused, absolutely. Intrigued? Probably. “Just answer the question.”

A pause. “Yes.”

Okay, definitely intrigued. I don’t say anything else. Just close my eyes and think of his home, his room, and the distance between us. I know what I want. It’s to _Be With Him._

And just like that I am.

Between one second and the next—

“Merlin’s _balls!_ ” Baz literally falls out of his bed, taking the comforter and several pillows down with him.

“What’s with you and pillows?” I ask nonchalantly from where I’m leaning back against the headboard. My hands are behind my head like I’ve been here the whole time. “If we lived in a different kind of world, I’d call this a nest.”

(Wink, wink.)

Baz picks himself up off the floor. “What does _that_ mean? Where the hell did you come from?”

“It’s why I wanted to know where you were, you pervert.” I make a little exploding motion with my hands. “It’s this thing called magic. I used it to get here.”

“Then you can magic yourself out, you impudent arse.” He pretends to scowl while throwing everything back on the bed, making no effort to hide that he’s also trying to hit me. I needed this. I really, really needed this. “Honestly. You need to warn people before you pop out of nowhere. I could have been naked for all you know.”

The idea does things to me. On the one hand he is very not-naked right now and that’s disappointing. On the other, I have imagined Baz naked countless times by now and the mere mention of the idea brings the image to the forefront. “Is that supposed to be a deterrent?” I say, a beat too late. “Because I’ll be real with you: it’s not.”

He huffs. “I really cannot tell if you are straight forward or shameless.”

I shrug. “Would you be surprised to know that you’re not the first person to tell me that?”

“Not in the slightest.”

I grin and pat the place beside me. He shoves a few pillows against the headboard and pulls the blanket around himself as he settles next to me. He’s probably closer than he needs to be, our arms and legs nearly touching, but I won’t be the one to say anything about it. Cuddling is solidly in our repertoire at this point. This is comparatively reserved.

“Thank you,” I say after a comfortable moment.

“For letting you break and enter?”

“I broke nothing.”

“Just my trust in my family’s defenses.”

I poke his side and he startles away. Ticklish. I file that away for later. “Just say ‘you’re welcome.’”

“And what am I welcoming you to, exactly?”

I am not about to tell him it’s for letting me be with him, because that is corny and sappy and gross and perfectly correct. It’s also easy to misconstrue. I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying to not be lonely. It’s selfish and it’s not because he invited me here. Not explicitly, but… “I don’t know what you’re welcoming me to. But I do know I’m thanking you for reaching out. I…uh…I needed that. This.”

“You’re welcome.”

I give him a small smile before leaning my head against his shoulder and watch as he fidgets with the edge of the comforter. He’s got a lot of nervous energy. I can’t help but wonder if that’s a recent thing. I wouldn’t blame him if it is. I know I’ve fallen back into comfort eating. Well. Comfort over-eating. I put my hand over his to stop him. His arm tenses beneath my head, but when he looks at me, I can feel him relax. “You’re great company,” I say so he doesn’t have to apologize for being tense and weird. “Seriously.”

“You know, I used to be fun.”

I pat his hand sympathetically. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

He bats my hand away. “You are the most frustrating and annoying person on the planet.”

“I think you’re pretty great, too.”

“Keep that up and I will make you play billiards.”

I gasp obnoxiously loudly and use this as the perfect excuse to wrap my arms tightly around him. “Please! No! Anything but that. Anything!”

“Anything?” There’s that tone again. And when I look up, that glint in his eyes is back. I didn’t know what to make of it the first time, but now I do. And honestly I feel stupid for missing it.

I sit up a little straighter so that we’re level, but I don’t remove my hands from him. “If you want to kiss me, you can.”

He doesn’t move, but his gaze is fixed on my mouth. “I swear I did not—”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I get it, you didn’t lure me here to make out. You wanted to make me feel better or something.” I’m grabbing his face between my palms as I speak, my words impatient and longing. I’m just a breath away now. “With you, it’s all the same to me.”

I kiss him.

And maybe a first kiss supposed to be a simple brush of lips. A test, a taste. Not this one. I don’t need to test what I already know in my soul. And I’m right. I kiss him fully, with the same familiarity as a when a match meets a candle wick. His hand rests on the back of my neck, pulling me closer. He slides down and I move so that I hover over him.

I kiss him until I can’t breathe, and when I’m fully breathless, I keep kissing him because now he’s the air I need.

His hands slide from around my neck to my chest. I hum appreciatively because it takes me more than a few seconds to understand he’s pushing me back. Whenever our lips part, I’m chasing him, capturing them again. He’s not fighting me very hard. His hands fist into my shirt and pull me forward and it’s only when I lose my balance that we break apart. I fall to my side, breathless and giddy and laughing.

“And you said being miserable with you wouldn’t be any fun.” My lips feel almost uncoordinated, like they were only meant to kiss Baz and nothing else.

“If I had known, I would have taken care of the blood situation first.”

“Oh,” I say without alarm. I scoot closer to him and tilt my neck to the side. “By all means.” Even as I say the words, there is some tiny part of rational thought left that says tempting a vampire is probably not a good idea, and that one day I will have to make good on my offer.

But mostly I just think it's is hot.

My heart spikes when he leans down and touches his lips to my throat. One kiss, two, three…each more reverent than the last. It’s…yeah. It’s…like, I know he’s just hungry, but I feel worshiped and that’s…indescribable. He moves away and my hand darts out to grab his shoulder. “Don’t stop,” I say, and honestly I’m on autopilot at this point. How is it possible for me to feel so many things and not have a single thought?

“See, that’s the problem. I don’t know how, and I feel like you will want me to before I kill you.” He’s as breathless as I am. If his hunger were a palpable thing, it would feel as weighted as the comforter around us.

I huff. “Why haven’t you learned how to be a vampire by now?”

“Oh I don’t know. Probably because the last encounter I had did not end well?”

“Sherry would have been perfectly happy to teach you if you had manners.”

“Oh I’m sure.” His voice is laced with sarcasm. He pushes me a little further away so he can stand up.

“No, don’t leave.”

“If you want me to keep kissing you, then I need to eat. And brush my teeth.” He wrinkles his nose at the thought of kissing me with blood still fresh in his mouth. Again, hygiene is good and I know I’ll appreciate it. But also, my tiny animal brain remembers how powerful and sexy he looked after he Turned the Mage and that’s the image I focus on.

“Okay, fine.”

He shakes his head. He thinks I lost my marbles, I know he does. He’s probably right. I blame this entirely on him. He didn’t have to look at me like he did. He didn’t have to kiss me the way he did. He didn’t have to make me laugh or smile or feel whole.

But he did.

Now I get to reap the benefits and he must suffer the consequences.

He's halfway out the door when I shoot forward, hand outstretched. "Wait!" He turns, startled at the urgency in my tone. Our entire lives have built up to this moment. I have been thwarted again and again by the universe. (Mostly Penny). I will not be thwarted again. "Will you go out with me?"

He stares at me, not at all understanding why I sound like I'm hanging from a precipice. Honestly I'm surprised he didn't have something snarky to say. Instead, he nods. "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now folks it's all fluff from here! (Okay, not actually, sorry. There are plot things to resolve. But they kissed and we all know that opens the floodgates.) 
> 
> Share your thoughts with me! We are at the finish line and I need a boost.


End file.
